


Danger Never Looked So Sweet

by L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Anatomy Differences, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky has two dicks (I'll just come out and say it), Depressed Bucky Barnes, Depressed Steve Rogers, Double Penetration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Identity Issues, M/M, Merman Bucky, Oral Sex, Rimming, Teeth by Hannah Moskowitz inspired, Top Bucky Barnes, mentions of past illness, physical abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: The island is both a blessing and a curse. The enki fish cure sickness, but their magic cannot be taken away from the island. Steve is forced to live out his days on an island too small for his loneliness. He struggles to sleep, listening to the wails of the waves outside his window, or he thinks it's the waves.Then he meets a merman called Bucky. Bucky has streams of secrets. Secrets that could tear the two apart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beardysteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beardysteve/gifts).



> This fic is based on the novel Teeth, by Hannah Moskowitz. I encourage everyone to get the book because it brought me a lot of joy despite the tears I shed over the pages. 
> 
> This is a gift fic for [beardysteve](http://beardysteve.tumblr.com/). Happy belated Xmas! I love you! Enjoy the diccyfucking! ;D
> 
> Additional warnings: the fic hints at the possibility of a rape having had occurred to Bucky's mother. It is never confirmed, nor denied. But the thought is there. It is not substantial enough to deserve a tag. Along the same lines, Steve considers the possibility of Bucky having been raped. It is never addressed nor confirmed, and thus does not deserve a tag. There is no rape in this story.

Eating enki fish hadn’t been so bad when Steve first got to the island. There’d been plenty of recipes for his mother to try for him. And when he got too old to rely on the care of his mother, he started to buy cookbooks of his own. Anything to make the enki fish taste more interesting, to hide the nagging feel in the pit of his stomach that if he didn’t eat these fish day in and day out for the rest of his life, he’d waste away again.

See, enki are magical fish. The island isn’t a well-kept secret, but it’s a mystery all the same. No one is hiding the enki from the world, and yet the world seems complacent to ignore the enki outside of the island. Most people find out about the island because it saved someone else’s life. That’s how Steve’s mother found out when Steve was on his deathbed dying of pneumonia. She’d been told by a friend that the enki had cured his wife. The catch though? His wife had to remain on the island for the rest of her days, or her cancer would come back.

So Steve, now an adult with broad shoulders, a height to give most men pause and a jawline he’s rather proud of—is trapped. He’s trapped because without the enki, he’ll waste away again into nothing. He’ll probably even die. So he eats the enki, three—sometimes four times a day. Now the taste of enki sits foul in his stomach. They digest slower, and he’s certain he’ll vomit before getting the magic he needs to sustain his life now. He tries recipes like fish jerky, barbecue, hot sauce, all sorts of things to drown out the flavor of the fish. But it seems the more he tries, the stronger the flavor gets, like the fish are fighting him. They want him reminded that he’s at their mercy. Without the consumption of the fish, Steve Rogers, will surely die.

Steve swallows around another bite of enki. It’s pan fried and covered in lemon pepper. The lemon is sour on his tongue. It angers his tastebuds, and they swell up from the tart flavor. But there at the back of his tongue, he can still taste the enki. The sharp flavor of fish as the meat falls apart against his tongue. He guzzles down his milk to wash the flavor away. He’s only in his late twenties. How can he possibly stand to eat the enki for the rest of his life? He misses the luxury of travel. Enki cannot be shipped across the world. The magic is focused around the island. Scientists have tried, companies have too. The enki cannot be brought alive to the States or anywhere else in the world. The fish die. And when they die, they turn to ash. The magic of the enki is tied to the island. The island is unforgiving when it comes to its secrets. It will not let anyone have them.

So Steve is trapped. He winces, swallowing down another bite. He wants to cry. His life is dependent upon the mundane act of eating. Everyone needs to eat to survive. But not everyone needs to survive like this—chained to an island and a fish. The island is small, pretty for the most part. There’re patches of places with coal-black sand, but at night it glows when you step on it or run your fingers along the smooth sediment. There’s not much in terms of job opportunities. Most people run their own shops, there’s a few doctors and some lawyers. They use Maritime law. The island isn’t owned by any country. It’s its own, and yet it belongs to the world. Everyone is permitted here, and yet the island doesn’t overcrowd. It’s like people know that once you’ve had your taste of enki, you’re forever bound to the island, and the island refuses to ever let you go.

Cars are rare. Most people walk or cycle around. Sheep run free. No one eats them except the fishermen. The fishermen are the richest people on the island. Even the doctors are at their mercy. The doctor that Steve knows, Dr. Strange—he used to be some big-shot surgeon. Now he’s just as trapped as Steve. He spends his days mostly patching up children or the occasional baby born. No one gets sick on the island. The enki cure them. The lawyers don’t have much work either. Property isn’t owned, it’s borrowed. People come and go from the island. Some, driven mad from the mundane day-to-day, others simply leaving behind the person they came to save in the first place. The island is as much a curse as a blessing.

Steve looks to the empty chair in front of him. Even his mother’s left him. She writes. She writes so much, actually. But after Steve got well enough to look after himself, she’d left to return to work and her life in Brooklyn. Steve doesn’t fault her. She does visit every holiday and when she can. She sees the island as a reprieve, a vacation. She’s forgotten the bitter flavor of the enki and how miserable she’d been here.

Steve pushes the plate away. He’s not finished, but he can’t keep swallowing down each wretched bite. He sighs, putting the plate in the microwave for later. It’s an older model. The white has faded to yellow and the buttons are mostly worn away. Steve can’t afford a new one. He paints on the island. He does family portraits, comics for children and the occasional ocean landscape. He tries to sell his art online, but it’s slow business. Most people would rather buy a cheap print from Target than spend money on an artist. Steve can’t fault them. People don’t understand what artists do when they puts a brush to a canvas. They leave a little bit of themselves behind. Their struggle, their happiness, their excitement. It’s all there in the canvas and the artist can see it clearly. It’s harder for a consumer to see it.

Steve leaves his rickety house. It’s above the water, high up and held sound with beams built into the ocean floor and weighted down by cement. The house sometimes sways during bad storms. Steve likes the motion, honestly. If he were to drown, well, at least he’d die among the enki.

He walks around his house, looking at the ocean waves that ebb and flow against the sand. The sand is white on this side of the island. Most people live along this side. The black sands tend to unnerve people. Though some collect it and keep it in jars. When they shake the jar, it glows. The island isn’t exactly circular, but people like to think it’s a yin-yang. Black and white. Life and death. Each side of the island representing something they want to believe in. Steve doesn’t put much thought into it. He’d rather not dwell on his captor. Even if his captor is holding the jail cell open and he’s free to leave at any time. Does that mean the island is his captor, or Steve is his own jailor?

He sits in the sand, pushing his toes into the warm sun-kissed surface. Beneath the first layer is the cool, more wet layer. And he digs his toes into that too.  Looking out at the ocean, feeling the salty breeze on his face—it’s not so bad here. At least, not at the moment. Then Steve’s eyes dip down and he looks at the flash of deep black fish beneath the water and his heart squeezes. Enki. They’re ugly fish. Long with even longer fins and tails. They almost look like eels. In the sun though, their bodies glitter like crystal, casting every color off their scales. Some people collect and dry the scales for art. Steve’s never had the desire. He sticks to paint and pastels.

Steve clicks his tongue, he’s bored. A walk into town would be nice. So he does just that.

* * *

The town is busy, despite it being almost sunset. People scurry from the stores, trying to buy up what they need before turning in for the night. Steve walks past a hunting shop, looking in at the bows inside. Clint Barton runs the place. He used to be deaf until the enki cured him. Now he sticks around because he likes the quiet. Ironic.

There’s a pottery shop too where Steve gets all his plates and bowls from. Natasha Romanov runs it. She’s a friend and Steve loves going into her shop and sitting with her while she casts her wares. Her fingers are mesmerizing. She makes it look so easy. From Steve’s disastrous attempt at it himself (with her guidance) he learned it wasn’t so. She has a gift, and he doesn’t. His is with the brush, hers is with the wheel.

Steve doesn’t stop at any of the shops. For what reason, he’ll never know. He passes by the single mechanic’s shop. He mostly fixes appliances and bicycles. Tony Stark is here because of something near his heart. Steve isn’t too sure. He keeps private about it. Not everyone is so vocal about what had been wrong with them. Natasha, for example, never tells why she came to the island. Steve grew up here though, so it’s different. Everyone who’d been there long enough knew he was the skinny, sickly little boy that clutched to his mother’s pants when they walked along the booths of fruit and vegetables. They remembered his dirty face or how he got into fights with that kid Jimmy for pulling Suzie’s hair. Jimmy and Suzie have long since left the island. They hadn’t been sick. Steve, had.

Steve finds himself walking down to the black sands, hands shoved into his pockets, his loose button-down flapping in the wind. His hair flicks back and forth above his brow from the breeze. He stands still except for wiggling his toes and watching the sand glow just a small bit. It’s too light out for it to truly be seen, but he can see the greens, blues and purples just faintly reaching up to him, greeting him like an old friend. And at this point, he is. He will spend the rest of his life on this wretched island. Most would find that a blessing. Low stress, low need for money, quiet and freedom to control your life. Not Steve. He misses the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn. He misses the horns and the traffic jams. He misses the bitter smell of diesel or how people insult him when he accidently bumps their shoulders. He misses life.

He hears a splash, and his thoughts ended abruptly. He looks out at the ocean, but sees nothing. Carefully, he takes a few steps forward. He doesn’t want to step on a shell and injure himself. He doesn’t relish the idea of visiting Dr. Strange for stitches. Needles don’t frighten Steve, Dr. Strange does.

Steve squints, looking out into the darkening ocean. The sun is now setting behind the thick purple and blue clouds above. The water black more than blue now. Steve still ventures out a little until the chilly waters lap at his feet. Another reason why he feels trapped. The water isn’t even warm here. It is alway chilly. On hot days, it isn’t so bad. Refreshing, even. Not on days like this, ordinary and temperatures just in the middle.

Steve sees a fin, but finds himself surprised that it isn’t enki. The enki have long, long fins that are black and almost translucent. This fin is silver, and solid.

“Shark?” Steve steps back. Sharks don’t like getting too close to the island for whatever reason. The enki are plentiful, but Steve wonders if the enki are strong enough to fight off a shark. Steve sits atop the blackened sand, watching for the shark’s fins. He feels sorry for it, honestly. It’s probably alone and maybe even lost. Kind of like Steve. Alone. Partly abandoned. He closes his eyes. No, his mother didn’t abandon him. She saved him by bringing him here. She couldn’t be responsible for staying with him as an adult. This is his choice to remain here.

And there is Steve’s answer to who his jailor is. He keeps himself in this captivity. Too afraid to waste away to nothing again. Too afraid to die without giving back _something_ to the world.

The fin raises above the water again, splashing an arch of water. Steve smiles. He’s glad the shark is there, it provides something for him to focus on that isn’t his life. “Hello friend.”

The shark doesn’t splash again. Once it becomes too dark to see out into the ocean, Steve paints with his fingers over the sands, watching the colors glow. He outlines a shark, and then leaves for the night.

* * *

Steve sits at the pier, watching the fishermen come in with new enki. Some are still alive, twitching and flicking their tails until the fishermen chop their heads off. Steve feels nothing but guilt. He hates taking the lives of the enki so that he can live. It isn’t fair to them. The natural order of things would have Steve die, and the enki live. But the natural order didn’t take into account the magic the enki have. So Steve consumes the fish and his guilt. Maybe that’s what makes the enki taste so foul to him now. It’s sunset and Steve’s supposed to be painting it. He’d like to get a few sunset landscapes to sell. People seem to like them, and if he can send them back to the States, he can get prints and sell them for a lot cheaper. He’s decided origional art isn’t the best way to go all the time.

“Enki bite toes,” someone says below him.

Steve freezes, his spine snapping ramrod straight. He looks down to see a man in the water. His hair is shaggy around his collarbones. It’s uneven, like someone had cut it with a dull blade. He’s broad and paddling the water with ease. Except, Steve only sees one arm. He furrows his brow, wondering how this man can wade water with just an arm and his legs. He tries to see into the water, but it’s too dark to see the man’s form below.

“I’ve never gotten bitten,” Steve says.

The man huffs, dipping into the water so his chin is covered. He blows a few bubbles before coming back up a bit. Steve tries not to look at the ghastly scar on the man’s left side. His arm _is_ gone.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Steve scoots closer to the pier’s edge. The man just sinks a little more into the water, glaring. “Or?”

“M’fine. Just came to tell you enki bite toes.”

“Do they bite bodies?” It’s only reasonable for Steve to assume that if they bite toes, then they must bite bodies, and this man is _in_ the water.

The man just stares at Steve with weighted intensity. Steve feels naked. He fidgets on his spot, looking at the rudimentary doodle he’d done on the canvas.

“Not mine.”

Steve looks up in time to see a fin arching into the water. It’s grey and white. Steve’s eyes grow wide when panic sets in like water spilling over the bath. There’s a shark in the water! This man!

But then he realizes, there was no shark, because the man is looking at Steve one more time, wading with just one hand. He turns again, and Steve sees the gray of his fin.

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers. He clutches his throat, still staring off into the darkening ocean. The sunset is no longer his concern. “You’re a merman.”

* * *

There’s an internet cafe in town. Internet is rare and expensive on the island. It took some getting used to, but no one uses the internet for school projects or to keep in touch here. Facebook is unheard of unless you have a lot of people off the island you keep in touch with. Steve doesn’t. Just his ma. He types in a word he never thought he would in his life. _Merman_.

Images pop up of art, fat men in fake fins and pinterest ideas for making “cute mermaid fins”—but none of it’s real. It’s all fantasy. Steve winces, clicking through the art. Some is gorgeous, breathtaking even. Some is inexperienced—but that’s okay too. Steve doesn’t dismiss art for immaturity. He knows that to be great, you must be mediocre once. He looks at beautiful photomanipulation, anime, silly dudes in costumes—but he finds nothing real. Then he searches something else. _Merman myths_. And there it is a few results down. _Old Legends and Real Sightings_. Steve has to take everything with a grain of salt. The legends talk of ugly creatures (but the man he’d seen wasn’t ugly) then he gets to the beautiful males who raped women under the sea, the ones who drowned sailors with their siren counterparts. Steve ends up stepping away from the computer because _nothing_ was nice about these things.

But the one he’d met tried to warn him about the enki. That was kind? Steve closes out the browser, deletes the history (it wasn’t like he’d been searching porn but he still felt guilty) and then leaves the cafe. He only has one true resource and that is the direct source. He wants to see this merman again.

He goes down to the pier once more. The sand here is a mix of the black and white. It looks like marble when damp. Steve sits with his toes dangling over the edge, waiting. He listenes for any sound, any splash or any voice. He gets excited when he hears the water gurgle, but it’s just enki down below. He gets excited again when he hears someone talking, but it’s just a man and his family on the beach.

Steve’s about to give up when he feels someone grab his toes. He looks down at the man—the merman. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull back. “If you wanted to bite my toes, all you had to do was ask.” Cheeky.

The merman simply lowers himself further into the water, his gaze heavy on Steve.

“You’re a merman?”

The merman shrugs, looking away. “Whatever that is.”

“You don’t know? But that’s what you are.”

The man shrugs again. “Never met anyone else like me. I just called me, _me_.”

“Oh.” Steve licks his lips. Most tribal people just call themselves The People in their own languages. It makes sense that this creature would do the same. Person. Person? Creature? Steve’s not really sure.

“So you’re alone?”

The merman nods.

“So you came to see me because you got lonely?” Steve feels his heart flutter. It’s a nice thought, thinking about the merman coming to him to curb his loneliness. Steve’s lonely too.

“I came to warn you that enki bite toes.”

Steve winces. “But they never bit my toes. Only you’ve bothered with ‘em.” He feels his cheeks getting warm. It’s not like him to be so confrontational, but maybe he’s a little disappointed that the other isn’t here to find companionship.

“They want to,” the merman says. He ducks under a wave and then bobs back up. “They want to eat all of you—like you eat them.”

Steve feels his stomach churn. “How do you know?”

“They’re my friends.”

Steve feels the sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to cry. “So you’re alone, but the enki are your friends?”

The other nods. “I’m the only one that can save them from you.”

“But we’ll die without them. I’ll die.”

The merman looks undisturbed by the confession. “Whatever that means.”

“You can’t just—there’re _children_ that come to this island! They _need_ those fish!” Steve’s never backed down from a fight on moral grounds before. The enki are fish. People are people. But then he thinks back to eating the enki day in and day out. He feels the guilt that coils in his stomach as he digests. He remembers lying awake at night contemplating if he’s overstayed his welcome in this life. He ducks his chin.

“The enki need me.”

Steve looks down at the merman, looks into shimmering gray eyes and scans over that clenched jaw. His brow is stern, courageous. He’s determined. Maybe this merman isn’t like the legends of old. Maybe he’s death come to realize Steve.

“Do you have a name?”

The merman dips under the water. He’s gone for so long that Steve starts gathering up his sketchbook and things. He thinks that’s all the merman was there for. As he stands, he hears something splash. He turns, seeing the merman again.

“I think it’s this.” The merman reaches out with his one hand to Steve, holding a shell. Steve takes the shell and looks into it. There’s a scrawling inside, B U C K Y.

“Bucky?”

“That what it says?” The innocence that filters into _Bucky’s_ eyes is almost alarming. He went from looking like a stone-cold murdering shark to almost a child. He looks up at Steve again and blinks the eagerness out of his eyes. “I can’t read.”

“Yeah. Says Bucky.”

“Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.” He drops beneath the water and comes back up again. “Gimme my shell back.”

Steve holds it for a second longer and he sees the merman’s teeth go from soft and round to long and sharp. He tosses it, startled.

Bucky’s teeth recede and he cradles the shell to his cheek. “Bucky.” He’s smiling.

“How’d you not know your name?”

“I’m only me. Me doesn’t call me a name when me is me.”

Steve blinks a few times. He tries to solve that one in his head, but gives up. “Who wrote on the shell then?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose up. “My sister. She threw it into the water.”

“You said you were alone.”

“Me is the only me.”

“I’m—but you have a sister? You’re not alone if you have a sister!”

“She lives up there,” he points at the island, “not with me.”

Steve looks back and forth from the merman to the island. “You have family, but they’re not like you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Me is the only me.”

“And you protect the enki?”

Bucky nods.

“Who's your sister?”

Bucky looks down at the water for a long time. Steve waits. He’s not sure if Bucky knows English as well as Steve does. He’s good at using the words, but maybe coming up with them is hard for him. And then Steve thinks back to him saying _whatever that means_. It’s possible that Bucky knows some English, but not all of it.

“Who raised you?” he asks.

“Me.” Bucky wraps his one arm around his chest.

“Oh. That must’ve been lonely.” Steve sits back down on the pier, scooting closer to the water.

Bucky shrugs. “Whatever that means.”

Steve smiles. “It means, you don’t like being alone.” Not entirely accurate but Steve’s trying to break down the concept into something Bucky could understand. “Who taught you to speak?”

“Fishermen.” Bucky looks at his mangled left side. Steve wants to ask. It sits there on the tip of his tongue, teasing him. It’d be easy to ask, but it’d also be easy for Bucky to be upset and swim away. Steve sighs instead, refraining from the question.

“So you have a sister. She nice?” Steve smiles.

“Maybe.” Bucky shrugs.

“Do you know your parents?”

Bucky nods. “My mother.”

“She on the island too?”

Bucky nods again.

“Is she human?” The question rings funny in Steve’s mind, but it’s not without merit. Bucky’s clearly not human.

Bucky dips under the water, leaving only his eyes staring up at Steve. He stays that way for a long time, just casually blinking, watching.

Steve waits, his brow furrowing more by the second. It’s almost time to eat, and if he doesn’t eat, he’ll get sick pretty quickly. That reminds him, he needs to go into the market to purchase more enki tomorrow.

“She is human,” Steve finally says. “Why else would she be on the island.”

Bucky blows bubbles under the water. They gurgle up, angry. Steve winces. Maybe he shouldn’t push this merman.

“I’ve gotta go,” Steve points behind him, “I’ll—will I see you again?”

Bucky bobs above the water now, shoulders exposed. “If you want.”

Steve smiles. “I’d like that.”

Bucky leaves, arching into the water, exposing his long gray and white tail. He’s half human and half shark. His fin isn’t graceful or flowy—it’s all purpose and menacing like a shark’s. Steve notices all the scars on it though. They raise pink and dark against the pearly white underbelly and the soft grays. Steve hopes it just comes with the territory of living in the ocean.

Somehow, he just doesn’t think that’s really right.

* * *

Wailing. Steve turns in his bed, coiling up and squeezing his eyes shut. The wind’s angrier than usual. The house creaks as the ocean waves berate it below and the wind attacks it from above. Steve pulls the blanket up just a bit more. He’s not cold, but his feet start tingling. He sits up, sighing and rubbing his eyes. It sounds like a ghost moaning out there.

Steve goes over to a window, looking out at the night. The moon reflects off the ocean waves, the ocean is as black as ink. He can see the palm trees bending from the ferocity of the wind. It’s just a windy night. He tries to ignore how human that wailing sounds.

Getting back into bed, Steve turns on a light and tries to read a bit. He repeats the same sentence over and over. Snapping the book closed, Steve throws the blanket over his head, growling.

Why is the island punishing him?

Then he thinks back to Bucky, guardian of the enki. Has Steve eaten enough enki to be seen as a demon now? Does the island eventually turn on all its inhabitants? Sighing, Steve lulls himself back to sleep with thoughts of guilt and finally being set free. Death isn’t what he wants, but if it’s what he deserves—there’s nothing he can do about it.

* * *

Steve doesn’t see Bucky for two weeks. Every day, Steve goes to the pier again. He draws, he paints, he reads. But he doesn’t see Bucky. He’s almost about ready to give up carting himself and all his things down here when he sees a gray and white fin out further. It’s trailing behind one of the fishermen boats. Steve leans forward, straining to see. The sun is reflecting off the water, and there’s bright and harsh beams reflecting back into Steve’s eyes.

The water looks purple?

Steve’s eyes widen when he realizes Bucky _isn’t_ following the fishermen, he’s floating away from them. Just floating!

“Bucky!” Steve dives into the water. Ice shocks his nerves, seizing up his limbs. His toes scream at him, and the balls of his feet squeeze and instantly go into a charley horse. Through the pain, Steve paddles out. It’s far, farther than he’d like. He’s gasping, his limbs are too weak to continue seizing anymore. He’s slowly turning to oil above water. But Bucky’s still floating, being carried over the waves and pushed closer and closer to Steve. So Steve keeps paddling.  

Bucky’s heavy. It’s hard to swim to shore with him, and his tail’s a lot longer than Steve gave it credit for. Steve’s almost crying from the strain. He’s coughing up salty water and choking when waves clap into his face. Finally, _finally_ he gets Bucky to shore.

Bucky’s tail has a deep hole in it, like someone took a cup and just dug out all the meat. His body is full of weeping wounds, but none are deep enough to kill. Steve doesn’t know what to do. He’s got a beached merman in his lap and nothing to help wake him or tend to his wounds.

“Oh my God,” someone says behind him.

Steve’s never been faced with such a moment. He’s never had to keep a secret like this. He pictures who’s behind him. Does he hurt them? Threaten them? Let them know? Bucky never asked to be kept a secret and yet the island doesn’t seem to know he exists. But the fishermen do. Bucky said they taught him English.

Steve turns slowly, jaw clenched so tight that his eyes are panging with pain. Natasha stands there, her fingers hovering over her mouth and her green eyes blown wide.

“He’s—he’s hurt!” Steve doesn’t care about secrets. Natasha’s a friend and she could help. Except, Natasha isn’t rushing forward. She’s stepping back. She’s shaking her head and tears are filling up her eyes. “Natasha?”

“She said he was dead.” An audible whisper, one full of anguish and glistening with wounds ripped anew. “I thought—I thought he was dead.”

“Bucky?” Steve looks down at the merman in his lap, and then up at Natasha. His mouth drops open when his panicked mind starts to move again. It carefully puts everything into its proper place, solving the puzzle before him. Natasha is Bucky’s _sister_.

“Oh _moy starshiy brat_.” She steps close, and then shrinks away again, sobbing. “ _Starshiy brat._ ”

“What? Nat—what? Help me!” Steve gestures to Bucky. Natasha swallows thickly. She blinks the tears out of her eyes and then she’s running towards Steve and Bucky. She helps gather Bucky up in her arms and together they haul him away from the shore.

Steve’s house is too far away, so they bring him to Natasha’s. It takes them longer than it should. They hide behind bushes, wait for people to pass and even stick to the foliage instead of the paths carved out for people to meander.

Steve’s glistening with sweat when they finally get to Natasha’s bungalow. It’s small, tucked behind bountiful thick palm bushes and shaded by a single palm tree. Natasha kicks the door open and it bangs loudly on the other side. Steve looks over as he helps haul Bucky inside and sees a small dent. He’ll have to volunteer to fix that—but then he remembers Natasha is good with pottery. She may know how to work with plaster better than Steve.

“Lie him here.” Natasha jerks her chin toward the kitchen. It’s got mint green appliances, and white cupboards and cabinets. The fridge is rounded and smaller than Steve’s but spotless. It’s all so— _adorable_. There are flowers in the window behind the sink and a vine hangs down, like it’s trying to see what’s happening on the kitchen floor.

Natasha grabs a first aid kit from one of her cabinets and wets a towel. She starts patting at the bloody wounds, speaking a language Steve can’t understand.

Steve kneels down on Bucky’s other side. “What can I do to help?”

“What. _Happened_?” She looks up, and Steve almost falls back. Her eyes are enraged, quivering with the anguish that radiates from her body like a fire. Her mouth is twisted up in a snarl and her cheeks twitching.

“I found him. He was floating in the water.” Steve swallows. “I went—um—I swam out to get him.”

She looks down again, patting over the wounds and applying Neosporin. “Do you know his name?”

Steve nods. “Bucky.”

Natasha smiles. She tucks one of Bucky’s hairs behind his ear, cupping his face. “He’s my older brother.”

“I gathered. He told me he has a sister.”

Natasha looks up, startled. “Did he?”

“He didn’t tell me who. I just—well I just figured it out—cause—well your reaction.”

Natasha continues cleaning the wounds. She hums, slowly moving her hand over each cut. “These aren’t deep.”

“But you’re human.” Word vomit. It’s just as sudden and abrupt as any other form of vomit. Steve also gets the nasty aftertaste.

“And?” She tilts her head.

“He’s not?”

“He is what he is.” Natasha goes back to tending the wounds. “I’ve always wondered about him. What he’d be like. My mama always told me she’d been captured by a monster. Lured in by its charm and then—” She cringes. “I never knew he’d be this beautiful.”

“He’s what lured your mother?”

“What? No! He’s what—he’s what came of their relationship.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “These are clean. I need to get to the ones on his back. I’ll deal with his tail later.”

They work in silence after that. Steve moves Bucky when Natasha asks, holding up his tail, pulling back a shoulder and flipping the merman back and forth on his sides. Bucky never wakes. His head rolls from side to side, his mouth open. Steve can see from this close that Bucky has slightly thicker gums than normal humans. He guesses that’s because of the teeth hidden inside his mouth, ready to spring out. He also has webs between his fingers and his nails are sharp like claws. A shark in a human’s body.

They finish when the sun is gone and the moon is starting to crawl across the night’s sky. Natasha’s breathing heavy, Steve’s mostly dry now. He smells like salt from the ocean and most likely his own sweat. He’s sticky too from his outing in the water.

“What do we do now?” Steve asks.

“We put him back.”

“What?!”

“Steve—he doesn’t belong here.”

“But he’s your brother!” Steve’s legs start tingling. It’s that strange sensation when he wants to run but plants firm because what the other is saying is a load of shit.

“And he has a fin.” Natasha looks down, her gaze lingering on Bucky’s face. “He’ll wake when the enki heal him more.”

“He said he guards the enki. Is that true?”

Natasha smiles sadly, tears filling up her eyes again. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never spoken to my brother once.”

* * *

Bucky isn’t where Steve and Natasha left him last night. Steve knows—because he’s standing there now, looking out at the sea. The waves crash along the sand, the wind tickles Steve’s hair. But no Bucky.

Steve gathers shells along the shore, plopping them into his pockets as he goes. One jabs hard into his thigh and he yelps, yanking it out and tossing it away. It hits him in the back when he’s leaning down to pick up another. Steve yells, snapping up and turning.

Bucky’s in the water, smirking. He’s in shallower water, using his arm for balance. His tail flicks back and forth on occasion, keeping him steady from the undercurrent.

“Jerk!”

“You threw it at me first!”

“Oh.”

Bucky’s face softens. “You wanna swim with me?”

Steve laughs. “Oh no. I’ve read that story.”

“What story?” Bucky tilts his head to the side.

“The one about mermaids taking sailors and drowning them.”

Bucky ducks under a wave and comes back up. He shakes out his shaggy hair. Steve watches the water droplets sparkle in the sunlight, like little diamonds flying in saucers around Bucky’s head.

“I don’t drown people.”

“How do I know? You could be lying?” Steve takes a step closer to the water, his smile smug.

“You could come out here and find out.” Bucky splashes with his tail. Steve laughs at the display. He’s being coaxed out into the water by something he’s sure could drown him. Also—it’s fucking freezing. But here he is. He strips off his shirt and pants, opting to leave the shells before they all fall out in the water. He’s at least got his briefs and they’re dark enough that nothing’s going to be seen.

Steve walks out into the water, following as Bucky zooms out into deeper water. It’s icy, and Steve’s already trembling. He stops when the water is up to his waist. “I c-cant go anymore. S-so cold.”

Bucky swims closer. He pushes his body against Steve’s. _Warm_. Steve’s eyes snap open.

“W-what’re you doing?!”

“You’re cold. I’m not.” Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “You swam with me.”

“S-s-s-not swimming. I think my balls just went up into my throat.”

“Your what?” Bucky blinks, staring. This close, Steve notices every line on Bucky’s face, every detail that he couldn’t really see before or was too scared in the moment to pay attention. Bucky’s face is tanned and has tiny scars near his hairline. His eyes are large with inky black lashes. He has a splash of freckles on his cheeks that Steve could trace horoscopes out of. Steve’s gaze dips to Bucky’s lips and—

 _Oh_.

Steve’s cock reminds him that he’s not alone, there’s a body next to his and the waves keep brushing them up against each other, like lovers thrusting. Steve looks up at Bucky’s eyes again.

“Balls’re—I mean—testacles?”

Bucky cocks a brow.

“Oh. I guess—I guess your anatomy is different.”

Bucky reaches into the water and starts grabbing at Steve’s body. “What are they?”

“Yo! Oh! Hey!” Steve jumps back as best he can in the water. “You don’t just grab someone’s balls!”

“You said they’re in your throat anyway!”

“So why were you grabbing?!”

“I got curious!” Bucky throws himself into the water. He swims out of Steve’s vision.

Steve looks up at the sky, groaning. He’s sure Bucky’s not coming back. Something brushes against Steve’s feet, silken and cold. Steve looks down, knowing the most dangerous thing in here is probably Bucky. Whatever the thing is can’t hurt Steve.

He feels nibbles at his fingers. It tickles, like rubber trying to catch a grip. Steve laughs. He pulls his hand up and sees a live enki fall back into the water. It’s long body splashes back, swirling down to the seafloor.

“Hey lil guy.” Steve walks carefully toward the shore, making sure he doesn’t step on any enki. He dries off with his shirt and lies in the sun, trying to get warmer. His eyes are closed, the sun’s warmth soothing his chilled skin. Tiny little drops of water hit his face, one...then two. He thinks it’s raining when he opens his eyes to see Bucky’s face right above his.

He yelps, and Bucky’s head moves back. Bucky’s out of the water, but there’s a heavy trail in the sand from where he’d hauled himself.

“You don’t just sneak up on people!” Steve flicks Bucky’s arm. He’s relieved though. He’s always afraid he’ll never see Bucky again after each time they part. And Bucky hasn’t given Steve much to go on. And after yesterday? Steve’s terrified he’ll find Bucky’s corpse washed up on the beach.  

“Why?”

“Because—because it freaks them out.”

“What’s freaks them out?” Bucky tilts his head to the side. Steve watches his stringy hair curve along his jaw. Bucky’s pretty, but that hair blocks it and makes his face look more rugged than refined. Steve’s not sure which he’d prefer more. Perhaps both.

“It means it’ll scare them.”

Bucky licks his lips, nodding. “Did you—you helped me.”

Steve’s lips part. He hadn’t been sure if Bucky would remember or not.

“You screamed my name, and I saw you jump into the water.” Bucky looks into Steve’s eyes, ice cold gray eyes grabbing ahold of Steve’s soul. Steve stops breathing from the intensity of that gaze.

“I was scared.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Why would you care? I wanna stop you all from eating the enki.”

Steve bites his lip. It may have been easier if Bucky was dead, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. The world can’t kill off its enemies to solve problems, or there’ll be no one left alive. Not everyone sees eye-to-eye. Not everyone agrees about everything. Sometimes it’s okay.

“How’re you gonna stop us?” Steve asks, because saying how he really feels seems too hard.

“I tried yesterday. Tried to cut loose the enki from the fishermen’s lines.”

“Did they do that to you?”

Bucky shrugs. “We play games. If I get caught, they getta do whatever they want to me. But if I catch them, I get to save the enki.”

“Do you win?”

Bucky smiles. “Sometimes.”

“That’s dangerous, Bucky!” Steve doesn’t mean to become patronizing. But he’d seen what happened last night. He can still see the wound in Bucky’s tail. It’s scarred over already—probably from the enki—but it’s still there. It’s a dip in Bucky’s fin and Steve can never wipe the memory of seeing it spewing blood over the sand out of his mind. The panic that he’d experienced from seeing Bucky like that—he’s not sure if he considers Bucky a friend or if he can’t stomach the idea of losing the one thing that’s stopped making the island so boring to him. Maybe both. Is it wrong if it’s both?

“Yeah well, they’re my friends.” Bucky pouts, flicking his tail sharply. Steve can feel the merman’s anger rising.

“But they hurt you. Friends don’t hurt each other.”

Bucky shrugs. “They’re the only ones I got.” His voice breaks off. He sucks back a deep, shaky breath. “My momma threw me into the ocean. I never got to see my sister bigger than a baby. I cry all the time and the fishermen are the _only_ ones that hear me.”

“Wait. Cry?” Steve swallows as much as he can, but no matter how many times he tries, the rock in the back of his throat won’t go down. It waits patiently, pressing back and burrowing into the base of his skull.

“Every night.”

“I heard you before. That was you?” The wailing. Instead of trying to find Bucky, Steve just forced himself back to sleep. Bucky was alone and miserable and Steve was safe in his bed. What kind of life does Bucky have? He is alone and the attention he gets from the fishermen is better than nothing to him.

Bucky looks at Steve mournfully, big grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He traces his finger in the sand, tapping his tail. “No one else wants me.”

“I want you,” Steve says, “Bucky—I want you.” He grabs Bucky’s face, tracing his thumb along the cheekbone. “I’d never hurt you like that.”

Bucky looks like he’s about to say something, and then he’s pulling away, dragging himself out into the ocean and swimming away. Steve stares after him, letting him go. He watches the waves for as long as he can—and then he goes home to his lonely shack with his food he can hardly stomach.

* * *

Steve’s in line for the enki. The sun’s high above, beating down more than ordinary for this time of year. Steve’s neck is sweaty. He keeps swatting flies away. He wants to go home, curl up on his back porch on the hammock and read a book. Instead, he has to wait in line for more enki. He always seems to pick the worst days.

Natasha bumps his shoulder, nodding at him.

“Hey.”

“Steve.” Natasha’s carrying a box full of clay and some molds. “You seen him lately?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not since last week.”

Natasha nods, pursing her lips. “I keep trying to find him, but I can’t.”

“He’ll come around.” Steve hopes, at least.

“Hey, take this.” Natasha pulls back a cloth to show off some freshly bagged enki.

“What? I can’t take yours!”

“I don’t need it.” She grimaces, looking at the line. “You do.”

Steve hears the yelling up front. He looks forward, watching Tony Stark pointing at one of the fishermen with an uncharacteristically threatening finger. His nose is flared, his brow creased to make him look older than he is.

Steve’s lips part slowly as he listens to the yelling. “What do you _mean_ you’re all out?! You were out there all day! I watched!”

“Listen, pal,” the fisherman says. Steve thinks his name is Brock. “We was out there all day. Somethin’ cut our lines, okay!”

“Bucky’s okay.” After the elation of the news, Steve’s own circumstances come forward. Bucky’s cutting the enki lines. Without the enki, the people here all die. Without the enki, _Steve_ dies. Steve looks over at Natasha’s hidden enki stash again. “You’re sure you don’t need it?”

“I’m not sick, Steve. Take it.”

So Steve does. And he walks home feeling guilty when he passes a mother and child without their enki. Each person he passes, he feels more and more terrible. The old lady with the crick in her spine, the bald man who came here because he was paralyzed, the kids, oh it’s so hard to pass all the kids.

By the time Steve gets into his home, he slams the door shut, drops the bag of enki meat and cries, sliding down the door. What kind of life is this? What kind?

* * *

Steve screams at the ocean for three nights for Bucky. Bucky never comes.

* * *

Steve’s almost finished with his last morsel of enki when someone knocks at his door. He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and gets up. The shack isn’t big, so a few steps and he’s already there at the front. He opens the door to find Natasha. She’s holding a bag of enki.

“Got ya this.”

“There’s more?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got a deal with Brock. I pay him three times the asking price and he gives me first dibs.”

“Why? If you don’t need it?”

Natasha shrugs. “I have my reasons for wanting enki fish.” Natasha sidesteps Steve and walks into the house. “Nice place. I think.”

Steve laughs. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Natasha whirls around, her nose crinkled up. “Uh, no. We need—we need to stop Bucky.”

Steve blinks.

“He’s killing people, Steve. Xavier fell down today. Strange can’t stop his hands from shaking. That boy who had lymphoma? It’s back. If we don’t get enough enki again, they’ll all start reverting back.”

“But—is it even right? I mean—we kill these fish to live. But is it right that we do it?”

“Says the guy eating a full meal of enki.”

Steve winces. “I won’t take your bag then. This isn’t right. Maybe we’ve abused the laws of life and death enough.”

“Not everyone here is here because of death, Steve. This island allows Strange to practice medicine again. Xavier can walk with his husband. Clint can hear himself _sing_. It’s not just life and death.” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. “That’s just you.”

Steve looks to the bag of enki and then down to his feet. “You’re right. I don’t deserve to live then.”

“Steve!”

“No! Give it to someone else. I’ve abused life and death enough.” Steve shoves the bag into Natasha’s stomach and shakes his head. “Give it to a kid.”

“You’ll get sick.”

Steve nods. “I know, but it’s the right thing to do.”

“And Bucky? We still have to stop him.”

“Maybe.” Steve sucks at the inside of his cheek. “But we have to find him first.”

* * *

Steve collapses three days after his last meal of enki. He comes down with a fever on his fourth. His muscles are sore and it’s hard to walk, but he’s still trying. He grabs the railing as he goes, his gaze staring down the horizon. He walks to the edge of the pier. It’s a cold night, but he’s sweating. His fever won’t go down and there’s no medicine on the island to curb it. They’d always had the enki.

“BUCKY!” he screams. The ferocity hurts his throat. His body trembles and all he wants is to fall over and sleep. Maybe he could drown in the ocean. It’s not suicidal, he thinks. It’s just acceptance. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to kill himself. But life and death are part of each other like day and night, up and down. Steve’s borrowed so much time already. Perhaps he should give the rest back.

“Steve!”

Steve looks down, blinking through tears he didn’t know blurred his vision. He sees Bucky in the water, his arm reaching out. “Come to me, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t think. He just lets his body go. He falls into the water, it’s ice and his muscles clench. He starts convulsing. Warmth blooms on one side of his body. He’s underwater. Salt burns his nose, he gags, coughing on sea and desperate for air. His body hurts. Drowning isn’t what he expected. They always said it’d be serene. This is violent and uncomfortable.

He feels his body lunged up and he can breathe again. He’s gasping, coughing, spewing out salt water. Bucky’s next to him, his fin still in the water. They’re in a cave. Steve doesn’t think too hard on it, but it must be an air pocket beneath the ocean. Bucky pulls Steve into his chest. He’s breathing hard from what Steve can feel.

“Steve—Steve?”

Steve’s too cold and weak to respond. He’s still shaking violently, his body more than freezing now. Everything hurts. It’s like he’s inside the blue of a flame. His nerves explode beneath his skin, fraying out and searing some more.

“Here, here Steve—just open your mouth. Open your mouth, Steve!”

Steve tries, but it’s clamped tight. He whines, pushing back into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky pries open Steve’s mouth, he puts his fingers inside to keep Steve from snapping shut. Steve can taste his salty fingers with each bite from his chattering. Then something soft and cool enters his mouth, and Bucky pulls his hand away. It’s blander for the most part, kind of mushy like a cloud.

 _Enki_.

Steve’s eyes flare open. He sees Bucky scooping meat out of an enki’s body, and offering it out to Steve. Tears stream from Bucky’s eyes, his hand is trembling, but he holds out the meat. Steve opens his mouth, letting Bucky feed the fish to him.

Bucky feeds him a few more times. He’s sobbing. Tears shimmer off his illuminated face. There’s a faint, green glow around them. Steve looks into the cave, seeing shimmering little specks that glow green, purple and pink. It’s like the black sand above. It illuminates the cave with an eerie tone, but it’s strong enough to see, so Steve isn’t complaining.

Steve takes one more bite from Bucky’s hand. He grabs it before Bucky can scoop out more meat from the fish. “No more.”

Bucky drops his hand into the water, flicking it around.

Steve swallows around empty air, looking at Bucky, to the dead enki nearby. He’s still weak, but not nearly as cold as before. The enki’s magic flows through him, warming his skin and bringing down his fever. It allows him to really pay attention to what’s happening before his eyes.

“You killed an enki.”

Bucky’s face squeezes.

“For me. You killed an enki—for me.”

“You’re my friend.” Bucky looks up through his hair. It hides his face, but Steve doesn’t need to see to know his eyes are still full of tears.

“You’re mine too.” Steve reaches out, cupping Bucky’s face. He tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear and scoots closer, wrapping his arms around Bucky. “Thank you.” He drops his face into Bucky’s neck, breathing in his salty scent. “Thank you so much.”

Bucky’s still for a long time, but then he’s clutching Steve back.

They hold each other, silent, except for drops of water falling into the pool. Steve opens his eyes when he begins to feel himself nodding off. He blinks, looking around. There’s the shell Bucky showed him the day they first met. There’s a blanket (Steve assumes it’s damp) and a lot of discarded oyster shells. There’s some trinkets from the island, like women’s jewelry, photos hidden behind glass but still damaged by the sea. There’s a fork and a spoon. Steve gasps when he realizes where he is. This is Bucky’s _home_.

Steve pulls back, looking with wide eyes at Bucky. Bucky just blinks, his brow twitching. It’s dumb, that Steve cares so much. But this somehow feels intimate in a way. He’s seeing where Bucky goes to sleep, or eats. Maybe he curls up with that blanket when he feels sick. It’s the most domestic part of Bucky—who is anything but domestic.

And Steve can see it all here.

He presses a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder before nuzzling against the other. Bucky just scoots closer, wrapping his arm around Steve. It’s not quiet here, not at all. Steve can hear Bucky’s pounding heart. He can hear the droplets of water fall into the pool and the echo of the ocean above them. It groans, like a tired lion. Steve finds himself calmed by it. He’s tucked up safe in a little cocoon here.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers again.

Bucky squeezes Steve a little harder. They’ll have to get Steve out of here eventually. The idea of going back through the water doesn’t thrill Steve, but he’s okay with it. He’s seen Bucky’s home. He’s kissed Bucky’s shoulder. Somehow, that makes it all worth it.

* * *

The enki are plentiful on the island again. The fisherman haul bins and bins from the docks. The prices are lower. People are laughing. Dr. Strange’s hands are still again. Xavier and his husband take their walks around the island. They’re the only other couple on the island that Steve identifies with. He’s had talks with Xavier about his orientation before—about how he feels he’ll always be alone because of it. Xavier had smiled, chuckled and looked up at Erik and said, “I thought the same thing too.” Steve’s more hopeful now. Hopeful about a man with a fin and teeth sharper than knives when he wants them to be.

Steve sees Bucky every night along the black sandy beaches. They spend time drawing in the sand, lighting it up with its gentle glows.

Bucky’s beautiful, so beautiful in a way Steve’s never imagined possible. He’s awkward, mangled up and he’ll never feel _tall_ to Steve. But he’s so beautiful.

Steve’s lying atop the sand, moving his hands up and down to create angel wings. The sand glows so bright that he can see Bucky’s face above his. It’s lit up by the green aura, casting gentle shadows off the hollows of his cheeks and the dips of his eye sockets. The tips of his hair glow green and his teeth are whiter than normal from light casting off them.

He’s mostly lying on Steve’s chest, his arm curled between them to give his head support when he’s not holding it up. Right now though, right now he is, and he’s looking down at Steve with a need that Steve’s never seen before in those stormy eyes.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” Steve knows the answer, but he feels it polite to ask anyway.

“I don’t know what a kiss is.” Bucky drops his head, inching closer to Steve’s.

“I can teach you.”

Bucky smiles. “I’d like that.”

Steve pushes up, bringing Bucky along with him. He’s covered in black sand, but it shimmers against his skin all green and purple. The light casts from their bodies and their bodies alone. The world doesn’t exist except for this moment and Steve’s first kiss will bring it all tumbling back alive. So he takes his time, like God took his time with the world.

He brushes their noses together, just slow, back and forths. Bucky’s mouth is open, his eyes watching Steve. Steve keeps moving his neck, swaying like he’s dancing. Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile.

“This is a kiss?”

“It gets better.” Steve reaches up and cups the back of Bucky’s neck. He brings their faces close again. “Close your eyes.” He waits, watching Bucky’s eye slip closed. Steve traces his nose along Bucky’s cheek, and then he presses his lips into the hollow. He trails them down Bucky’s jaw, kissing at his chin and then up the other side.

Bucky laughs, but he keeps his eyes closed.

Steve brings one of his hands away from Bucky’s neck to cup the merman’s cheek. He brushes his thumb back and forth, feeling stubble and smooth skin meet along his cheek. He kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose, nips at it lightly, even. He bends Bucky’s head to press kisses to each closed eye, and tilts Bucky’s chin up. He smirks, pleased smitten that Bucky’s been so patient.

Steve kisses down Bucky’s cheek, to the side of his mouth and then he finally slots his lips against Bucky’s. Bucky gasps, but he opens his mouth. Steve’s tongue traces along Bucky’s bottom lip. He doesn’t dare deepen the kiss. He just holds their lips together, feeling Bucky breathe through his nose and the way the puffs of air warm Steve’s face. He tastes the salt on Bucky’s lip, feels the way they’re chapped. There’s so much salt in the water. It’s not surprising that Bucky’s lips crack.

Steve pulls back, but wraps his hands around Bucky’s neck again. He brushes his nose over Bucky’s once more, crinkling it as he smiles. Bucky smiles too. They breath each other’s air, unmoving. Neither in a hurry to leave the other. Steve’s felt so lonely on this island. Bucky’s felt so lonely _everywhere_ he’s ever existed. Maybe that can change. It won’t be easy. They’ll never be like normal couples. They’ll never have movie nights or play videogames together. Going on walks will be unheard of. But they’ll have something that’s theirs.

And that’s all that Steve wants.

“Wow.” Bucky chokes out a laugh, “that was? That’s a kiss?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve never felt something like that. My—my whole body’s tingling.”

Steve nods, kissing the side of Bucky’s mouth again. Bucky tries to lean into it but Steve pulls his lips back. “Mine too.”

“I want more.” Bucky moves forward, pressing his hand to Steve’s chest.

Steve goes down into the sand willingly. Bucky’s mouth is eager and his body heavy. He rocks atop Steve, and Steve grinds back. Steve has a brief panic when he remembers Bucky’s anatomy is nothing like his, but they can work on that later. Steve won’t ruin a moment like this.

Bucky’s lips ebb and flow into Steve’s—like the tide greeting the sands. They’re gentle, but strong enough to coax a small bit of Steve back out into Bucky. His heart squeezes, his eyes water. He’ll fall in love so fast. He’s always thought it’d happen slow. But this is like he’s jumping from a plane and the earth is coming to greet him. Bucky shakes atop him, gasping.

Steve opens his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I—yeah. I’m fine.” He rolls off Steve, coiling up his fin as tight as he can.

Steve can’t help but watch it. In the dimness, Steve can make out a shape, or shapes? Bucky’s still coiled and thrusting in on himself now. He’s breathing hard and Steve’s not dumb enough to be oblivious to what’s happening. Bucky’s aroused.

“Do you—I don’t even know how to ask this.” Steve scratches his nose. He can feel blush heating up his cheeks. “Uh, have you ever—touched yourself?”

“What?”

“You have a penis, yeah?”

Bucky just keeps staring.

“Let me see.” He scoots forward, putting a hand on Bucky’s fin. The muscles tense beneath Steve’s touch, but soon relax. Bucky opens his tail, exposing not one, but two body parts that Steve’s _pretty_ sure are—he has two…

 _Jesus_.

“You—those—”

“I’m sorry. They come out when I’m—I can’t remember the word! Floozy, fleezy, flusbug.” He keeps saying gibberish, but Steve’s rather sure he knows.

“Horny?”

“What? No! Not horns.”

“No!” Steve laughs, looking down at the straining appendages. They’re not like his, they’re thinner, more rigid and have an arch that Steve’s completely curious about. “It means you’re turned on. You’re uh—you’re, you’re interested—sexually?”

“Frustrated!” Bucky blurts out. “I’m frustrated.”

Steve smiles. “Sure, that too.” Steve may have grown up on the island, but he’s no innocent lamb. The spotty internet that does exist on the island was a vast and knowledgable place for him when he was a kid. And when he got too scared to use the internet, he began exploring with his hands. He’d touched his cock at age ten, and then he’d started fingering his ass at age fifteen. He didn’t start putting cucumbers up there until his mother moved away though. Shipping isn’t impossible to order something from the States, but the cost is still outrageous. Cucumbers do Steve just fine.

“I didn’t mean to.” Bucky coils up again. “M’sorry.”

“Hey, hey shh, don’t be sorry. I’m—frustrated—too.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “You are?”

Steve nods. Yeah, he was definitely a little more than turned on. But he also knew his limits. Tonight wasn’t their night. Bucky didn’t need to run head-first into that and neither did Steve. They had plenty of time.

“I can teach you about sex later.”

“Sex?”

“That’s what people do when they’re—frustrated.”

“Oh. But I’m not people?”

Steve can’t help the grimace that shadows his face. Bucky _is_ people. He’s just a different kind. He still has feelings, fears and desires. He’s every bit as human as Steve, except for some of the body parts. It doesn’t change that he’s still a person in his mind.

Steve draws a heart into the glowing sand, putting a little arrow through it. He crawls around Bucky, drawing more hearts until the area all around Bucky is glowing bright with purple and green. It’s like they don’t even exist on Earth. It’s so alien to Steve, to see a man with a fin light up and reflect the glowing sands. But here they are.

“What’s all that?”

Steve sneaks in for another kiss. He lets Bucky lick into his mouth before pulling back to kiss up Bucky’s cheek. “Hearts.”

“Hearts are squishy. Go thump thump.”

Steve snorts. “Sure do.”

“Fishermen told me that.”

Steve doesn’t like the way Bucky’s face sours when he talks about the fishermen. “They’re signs of adoration and love—friendship.”

“Friendship.” Bucky smiles, nuzzling into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve lets Bucky tuck himself under Steve’s arms. They lay back in the sand. Bucky’s fin traces the fading glow around them until it’s the only reason there’s any light left from the sands.

Steve looks up into the sky, sighing. The sun is rising. They’d been out here together all night. “Wish you could come home with me.”

Bucky nestles back, sighing. “The other side of the island?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve swam there before. I can swim anywhere.”

“I mean, up in my bed with me. Not near the water.” It’s fascinating, the innocence in Bucky, and yet the age that paints his face. He can swim anywhere, but he chooses to stay here. He can learn anything, but he chooses to learn from the fishermen. He’s an enigma, a man who’s never lived and through Steve, he’s _finally_ experiencing what the world has to offer. But he’s scarred, he has lines on his face and stubble. He’s got the body of a man and his arm—missing arm—he’s also experienced more horror than Steve can imagine. Yet he remains gentle somehow. An enigma.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s heart breaks a little at the way Bucky’s small voice sounds. There’s trepidation there. He can feel it in the way Bucky’s muscles tighten. “You don’t have to. I just wish you could.”

“I could—try? N-not now, but one day?” Bucky turns to kiss Steve beneath the jaw before settling back in Steve’s arms. He flicks his tail out, and the ground waves with green glowing sand.

“One day sounds good.” Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s stringy hair. He wonders what Bucky would look like all cleaned up with no salt sticking to his skin. He doesn’t mind that Bucky’s always salty and sticky—but if he could be smooth and clean? It’s just a thought, really.

“We should go to bed.”

“I said one day!”

“N-no I mean, me in mine and you in yours. In your cave? I’ll go to my house and you go to your cave.”

“Oh—okay.”

“It’s just that it’s morning, Buck.” Steve squeezes Bucky, pressing tiny kisses atop his head. “We’ll see each other again after we go to sleep.”

“I don’t like this part.” Bucky flicks out his tail again, like a child stomping their feet. “It always makes my chest hurt.”

“Me too.” Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder, nosing along the mangled flesh. “But it’s only temporary.”

“Okay. But if you sleep too long, Steve—I’ll punch you.”

Steve laughs, allowing Bucky to pull him down for another kiss. They end up kissing until the sun crawls above the horizon and the sand’s glow is just a faint memory.

When they part, Steve can still taste Bucky’s salty lips.

* * *

“How is he?” Natasha finally asks. She’s bent over her wheel, hands gray with clay. Her hair is mostly tied up in a bun, pushed back by a bandana, but some strands fall around her face. She’s beautiful all mussed up. “I see you two together a lot.”

“Why don’t you ever come see him?”

Natasha cringes. She spins her wheel, working her fingers and thumbs over the bowl she’s creating. Steve gets lost watching the clay spin. He watches the lines from her fingers ebb into it, the way it just slightly dips at the top on one end before Natasha fixes it. How does she even do it before it spins away? It’s almost magic.

“Nat?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

Natasha huffs. She stops throwing her pottery and sits back, groaning. “It just is!”

“He’s your _brother_!”

“I _know_ that, Steve!” She stands up, staring down at Steve like an animal ready for its next meal. Steve just raises his jaw. He won’t run, but he won’t back down either. If a fight is what she wants, then it’s what she gets. “He’s—I thought he was dead! I threw his—I—” Chunky tears spill from her delicate eyes. She collapses on her stool and brings her hands up to cover her face. She smears clay all over her cheeks.

“His shell? With his name on it?”

Natasha nods.

“How old was he? When your mother threw him into the ocean?”

“I was a baby. I think he was maybe two or three.”

“Did—” Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. It doesn’t budge. “Did she throw him in to drown?”

Natasha takes a steady breath and then she nods. “Mama called him a monster. She’d tell me stories about the _d'yavol_ who she gave birth to. Sharp teeth, claws and the body of a shark, sent to gobble us all up.”

“A what?”

“A devil—or demon. Whatever you want to call it. A monster.” Natasha wraps her arms around herself. “She told me she threw it into the ocean to let the sharks eat it before it could eat us.”

“And you? What did you think?”

“I thought she’d murdered my brother. Doesn’t matter what he looks like or what he is. He’s my family.” Natasha smiles. “The only one I got left.”

“Then you should see him again.” Steve stands up, reaching for Natasha’s clay-soaked fingers. “He’d be so happy.”

“Would he?” Her eyes fill with tears again. “I’m so afraid he’d hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Natasha takes Steve’s hand. She touches Steve’s face. He can feel the clay latch onto his skin. “You’re a beautiful person, Steve.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll meet you after the fishermen bring in more enki?”

Steve nods. “Roger that.”

“Okay, don’t get weird. I swear you’re such an old geezer in a young man’s body.”

Steve’s smile only spreads wider. Natasha sits back at her wheel. She hums while she works now and her shoulders are raised higher. Steve leaves the store, careful not to trip on two running children who fly through the door as he exists.

Steve wanders down to the docks. He watches the fishermen out in their boats. He’d like to paint the scene, fishermen at work. But then he remembers what they’ve done to Bucky and his blood boils. They tried to kill him. Or did they just want to make him suffer? Steve grips the wooden railing hard. His forearms shake and he finally lets go. He needs to speak to the fishermen about Bucky. Bucky isn’t alone anymore. And anyone who hurts him will have to face Steven Grant mother fucking Rogers.

* * *

Steve gets to the fishermen’s unloading spot early. It’s to the side of town and right at the peak of the little hill to main street. The fishermen never stay more than a few hours, so they’ve never bothered putting up anything more than a tent and a wooden table. Steve’s first in line, though the line hasn’t even started forming yet. When the enki are bountiful, the lines are shorter.

One of the fishermen—Brock, Steve thinks—is coming up the hill. He’s sweaty, his hair falling over his eyes. Steve isn’t sure if wearing mostly black out at sea is a smart idea, but he won’t ask.

“Afternoon, Steve.” Brock drops the enki onto the wooden table. “Give us a bit, will ya? Gotta gut ‘em and weigh ‘em.”

“I’m here to talk to you.” Steve steps forward. One of the enki is still twitching. Brock shoves a cleaver through its neck; it goes still.

“Oh yeah? ‘Bout what? We ain’t hirin’ if that’s what yer askin’.”

“About the merman.”

Brock pauses. He stares at the table, his lips twitching. He takes his cleaver and lobs another enki head off. “Don’t exist.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Steve growls, “I saw you dump his body into the ocean and I swam out to save him.”

Brock offers a sour smirk. He drives the cleaver into the table, sniffing roughly. He turns when another fisherman comes up the hill with his own bag of enki. “Hey Jack, I’m gonna take a walk with this guy. I’ll be back.” Jack doesn’t respond. He drops his enki and starts beheading and slicing them open.

“You realize what he does right?” Brock asks. “He almost killed you and half the people on this island!”

“Yeah, but he stopped!”

“Did he?! I’m the one out there, Steve! I see what he does!”

Steve falters. He looks over Brock’s shoulder at the ocean, watching the fishermen’s boats bobbing atop the rolling waters. “W-what do you mean?”

“We use steel baskets now instead of nets. He still finds ways to break them or scare the fish away. We got fish, yeah, but only till he finds another crafty way of breaking our baskets. He’s out there every day behind us. _Every_ day.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Trying to cut the enki free?”

“Yup. Why do ya think we pushed back our market hours? It takes us longer to get more fish now that he’s decided to scare ‘em off before we can scoop ‘em up.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I get it, you thought we was harmin’ some innocent. He aint innocent Steve. He’d rather watch you die along with everyone else than have his precious enki disturbed. And we never tried to kill him. He got caught in our nets and thrashed around real good. We defended ourselves once he got free on our boat.”  Brock hocks a loogie and spits it out in the sandy grass nearby. “Anything else?”

Steve, rather repulsed by the churning sounds in Brock’s throat a moment ago, just shakes his head.

“See ya when marketin’ hours open.” Brock claps Steve on the back and makes his way back over to the tent.

Steve sighs, dropping his head back to stare up at the blue sky. “Oh Bucky—what’re you doing?”

* * *

Steve’s just leaving his house when he hears splashing beneath it. He runs down to the sand, looking under the house to see Bucky there. He’s smacking his tail to create as much noise as he can. When he sees Steve, he stops.

“Told ya I can swim anywhere.”

Steve smiles, because the smug grin on Bucky’s face is too beautiful to deny. “Sure can.”

Bucky breaches the water, hauling himself with one arm and using his tail as best he can to properly beach himself. He lies flat on his back, staring up at the sky, huffing.

“Takes a lot of work to haul your fat fin out, huh?” Steve sits next to him, playfully flicking Bucky’s nose.

“Least I don’t got fat legs like you!” Bucky pokes Steve’s thigh, and they share a quiet laugh.

Steve doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to talk about Brock or the information he’d learned. But he feels sadness swell inside. It’s bubbling forth, pressurized by a volcano and it’ll erupt if he doesn’t just let go and do it on his own terms. So he does. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

“I talked to a fisherman today about you.”

Bucky leans forward, scrunching up. For some reason, Steve didn’t think he’d be able to bend his tail like that, all scrunched as if he had knees in there. Steve always thought he was built like a shark in bulk, but perhaps sharks aren’t as brittle as Steve thought they were.

“He said you’re still trying to cut the enki free.”

Bucky looks away. He starts picking at his scarred up side.

“Buck, you know I need those fish to survive.” Steve inches closer, pressing his shoulder to Bucky’s. “You saw what happened to me.”

“I know,” Bucky’s voice is quiet, “I wouldn’t let _you_ die.”

“Bucky. It’s not our place to pick and choose who lives and dies.”

“So then why do you pick the enki to die and let the humans live?”

Steve doesn’t respond. It’s a thought he’s had many times, and will have for many more. The enki are fish, he wants to say. He wants to argue that the lives of the enki aren’t as important as the lives of a human’s. But humans aren’t any more important. Humans talk and they’re smart, but life is life. Why should one life be more valued than another?

“The enki don’t deserve to die,” Bucky’s brow furrows, “but you don’t either. How’s that fair, Steve? Why am I supposed to choose one over the other? I grew up alone—but then you—you’ve—changed me.”

“I have?”

Bucky scoffs. “I feel things like I never have. I think about you all the time. My stomach flips when I think about your smile. My heart squeezes when I think about us parting,” he looks down, biting his lip, “you’re everything to me.”

Steve smiles, hiding the laugh he wants to let loose. It’s not that he finds this funny. He’s relieved. Bucky’s so honest all the time. It’s more of a matter of him finding out who he is, and finding that Steve is part of that life. Bucky’s been lost and alone this entire time, and now he has someone there. He can stop being so sad about being alone, and start figuring out who he _is_.

“I don’t wanna pick one over the other. The enki’ve always been there—they’re part of me.”

“They are?”

Bucky nods. “I can hear them. They sing. And when they’re scared—they scream.”

Steve’s eyes fill to the brim with horror. His mouth drops open. The idea that these creatures are self-aware horrifies Steve. It’s bad enough that he eats cow and chicken, but to know that everything knows when it's suffering? Everything knows the fear of death? Steve’ll stop eating at this point!

“They—scream?”

Bucky looks at Steve with puckered lips and brows pulled up. He nods, swallowing roughly. Steve watches the way his neck muscles move, fighting Bucky at every little second.

“Jesus.” Steve pulls Bucky into his arms, squeezing around one smooth shoulder and another rough like used up sandpaper. He strokes at the scars, breathing in the way Bucky smells. He’s all salt and skin soaked with ocean. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

Bucky is still in Steve’s arms. The only indication that he’s even alive is the puffs of hot air on Steve’s arm. Steve tightens his embrace, turning in to kiss Bucky’s head once, twice… Then he lifts Bucky’s face and turns it toward him

“Kiss me,” he says.

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Please? I don’t know how to make you feel better, and this is the way I feel better—so please kiss me.”

Bucky’s eyes soften. A little smile tugs at his lips. He puts his hand on Steve’s cheek, running his thumb over the edges of Steve’s cheekbone. “You’re really upset over this.”

Steve nods.

Bucky brushes their noses together, giggling. “I’m glad.”

“I don’t wanna make you suffer,” Steve whispers. He selfishly closes the space between their lips and they share a chaste, long kiss. When Steve pulls back, Bucky’s still smiling. “What?”

“It’s okay, Steve. You’re alive because they die. And—and I can’t be alone anymore.” Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his, tracing along the veins. “I don’t wanna watch you die, even if I have to hear them scream.”

Steve winces. “So you’ll stop cutting the lines?”

Bucky crinkles his brow. He sighs heavily, dropping Steve’s hand. “No. But I’ll make sure you stay okay.”

“You mean—” Steve swallows, “—you’ll kill them—for me.”

“If I have to hear them scream, then I should be the one to do it. They trust me. If I take their life, they understand it’s necessary.”

Steve’s heart breaks into tiny pieces. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Bucky to suffer so that they can selfishly steal more time than Steve was supposed to have. Who told humans they got to play God? Picking and choosing like this, allowing Bucky to hurt his very being over and over again so that they can be together. It’s not right. Steve drops his head on Bucky’s mangled shoulder. He sniffs, holding back unshed tears and all the other obnoxious stuff that comes with it.

“Steve?”

Steve feels Bucky’s hair tickle his neck.

“Steve?”

A hand tips Steve’s face up and then he’s forced to look Bucky in the eye. He tries to smile, but it falls short, etched with more pain than pleasure.

“You really are upset.”

Steve flicks up his brow, nodding. “I’m on borrowed time, Buck.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to kill enki for my whole life. What if we—what if you ‘n—” The words falter. Steve isn’t exactly a “picture the future” kind of guy. He lives in the present. There are too many factors to think about the future with. A kid who was told he’d never see a future never has reason to get his hopes up and start dreaming about one.

“I—I think—” Bucky pulls away. He rolls over in the sand, coiling up. He grabs his tail like a boy holds a teddy bear. Steve just watches. “Can I come home with you tonight?”

Steve chokes. He chokes because out of all the things he expected to hear, that was not one of them. Bucky had been scared of the idea before. He’s never been away from the ocean, except when he was unconscious. Steve starts thinking about whether the house is clean enough, and then he remembers that Bucky doesn’t know human customs of making sure the house is clean. Bucky wouldn’t care one way or the other.

“Sure, Buck. I’d—that’d be real good.”

“Can we go now?” Bucky’s voice is soft. “I don’t—I wanna go now.”

“It’s still daylight.”

“Please?” Bucky grabs Steve’s hand. He’s covered in sand and sticky with ocean water. Steve thinks maybe with the extra time, they could get in the bath together. That’d actually be lovely.

Steve smiles, mind made up. “Sure.” He stands up, looking up at the beams supporting his house. It’s a marvel it doesn’t all come crashing down. The waves aren’t kind to the beams. “Do I carry you?”

Bucky nods, reaching his arm out for Steve to take. Steve leans over, pulling Bucky into his arms like a new bride. They laugh, both realizing how awkward this looks. Bucky’s tail still drags along the ground. His one arm at least wrapped around Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s getting covered in sand now too.

“We’re gonna take a bath.”

“A what?”

“A bath. I fill up the tub with water and we can get in together.”

“A tub.” Bucky looks at the stairs, his eyes conveying exactly what Steve is thinking.

“I can carry you up them. Don’t worry.”

“Why did people invent up up up things.”

Steve laughs. “Because we have legs. And they’re stairs.” He starts climbing the stairs. He only stumbles once and then gets to the door. He never bothers with locking the doors, so it’s easy to open it up and go inside. Bucky squirms in Steve’s arms until he’s managed to let himself fall to the floor. He pulls himself around, using his tail to spring forward. He’s actually a lot better at it than Steve thought. Then again, sand is hard to walk in even with legs.

Bucky turns around, smiling. “You live here.”

Steve looks around the shack. It’s small and dated. There’s at least a bedroom and a bathroom. He nods. “Yup.”

“It’s huge.”

Steve snorts. Compared to Bucky’s cave, yes it is.

“I’ll start the bath.” He hears Bucky hobbling around while he turns on the water, getting it warm enough for his skin. He drops a lavender bath bomb into it, watching the water turn purple and then begin to bubble.   

“Oh wow!”

Steve turns to see Bucky marveling at the tub. His hand is curled around the lip, face leaning forward to look at the bubbles.

Steve can’t help but laugh. He picks up some of the bubbles, putting it on the tip of Bucky’s nose.

Bucky wipes it away, his face crinkling up. “Smells nice.”

“Go ahead and get in. I’ll join you.” Steve knows the tub won’t fit them both comfortably, and he knows he’ll have to be naked. It was always part of his plan. He wants the closeness of their bodies. He wants Bucky to see him, just as he’d accidently seen Bucky that night on the beach. This is how Steve tries to understand how they can _work_ like this. Because he wants to. He wants intimacy, and he knows Bucky does too. He also knows Bucky wouldn’t know how, so it’s up to Steve to guide him.

Steve strips off his clothes, listening to Bucky splash into the tub. He hears a tiny little gasp and looks over his shoulder, cocking a brow.

Bucky’s looking at Steve with a blushing face, mouth open and eyes wide. Steve turns around, showing himself completely. Bucky’s hand twitches. “You’ve—you—”

“I what?” Steve steps forward, looking at how Bucky’s got himself arranged. Half of his tail is hanging out of the tub, but at least there’s some room for Steve to slip in.

“You only have one.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t been expecting that. A compliment, maybe, but the surprise? No.

“Oh.” Steve covers himself, wondering if this had been a bad idea. He looks away, shrugging. “Does that bother you?”

“I upset you. I didn’t mean to.” Bucky reaches out, water dropping from the curves of his arm. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

Steve doesn’t feel so sure. He lingers at the side of the tub, cold. “You sure?”

“Get yer ass in here, Steve.” Bucky splashes Steve, laughing.

Steve, scandalized, stares at Bucky with his mouth gaping. He gets into the water, finding that the only way he’ll be able to do this is to be flush against Bucky. Bucky turns them both, and Steve finds himself atop Bucky, straddling him. The water is deep enough to cover them both, but Steve’s shoulders poke out from beneath the warm water. He likes the contrast between the cool air and the warm water though. Bucky’s tail is slimy when wet and the friction it creates is—noticeable. Steve tries not to move too much. His cock drags along it at each tiny motion and it sends zings into Steve’s stomach.

“You’re—this is okay?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods.

“I don’t mind that you only have one, Steve. Really. If you don’t mind that I have two.”

Steve smiles. “I think it’s cool.”

Bucky mirrors Steve’s smile. “Well—I think it’s _cool_ you have one. Whatever that means.”

“It’s a good thing.” Steve kisses Bucky slowly. He stops caring that movement gets him riled and just lets it happen. He rocks forward, allowing the silken, slimy feel of Bucky’s tail to caress at his dick until he’s hard and throbbing. He doesn’t stop kissing Bucky, tracing his tongue along the seam of Bucky’s lips or dipping it inside to greet Bucky’s. Bucky is a shy kisser, and it only serves to make their kisses more endearing. Steve likes to be the aggressor, so to speak. He likes the trust that Bucky gives him and how safe he feels with Bucky. Bucky wouldn’t hurt him. And that’s important to a man who feels that the world has hurt him, even if it wasn’t its fault.

“Steve?” Bucky pulls back. He licks his swollen lips, looking between their bodies. “You’re making me—feel—”

“Shh,” Steve kisses him again, “I feel it too.” He looks down, rubbing his cock up and down Bucky’s tail. “See?”

Bucky looks down, a smirk twitching on his lips. He looks up again, nodding with parted lips. “I wanna touch you.”

Steve’s answer is taking Bucky’s hand, guiding it toward his cock. He presses more kisses to Bucky’s lips. He guides Bucky’s hand around his cock, still rocking his hips against that delightfully textured tail. It’s not just smooth, there are little dips from scars or muscle and it works to entice more pleasure from Steve that he could’ve imagined. Steve whines softly when Bucky’s hand squeezes him a bit.

“I hurt you?”

“N-no. No not at all. S’good. Keep—keep doin’ it. Feels good.” Steve’s eyes flutter shut when Bucky pumps over Steve’s cock. He kisses at Steve’s face, trailing his tongue along the shadows on his cheekbones. Steve’s hands are at Bucky’s hips, working to keep rocking into Bucky’s fist and letting his cock’s head run along Bucky’s tail. He shivers more from the heat inside his body than the cool air touching his back.

He’s not ashamed of his body anymore, but empowered by it. He can feel Bucky’s cocks, hard and fully exposed now. He places his own between them, rocking back and forth.

Bucky gasps, jerking. He drops his hand and it squeezes around Steve’s hip.

“This okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks through hooded lids, licking his chapped lips over and over. His answer is a long vibrato that cuts off with a kiss. He starts rocking his hips up to meet Steve’s. The water splashes over the side of the tub, but neither man cares. Steve’s nestled between his lover’s cocks and the friction, the _idea_ is enough to pull heat into his belly.

He kisses Bucky, sucking at his bottom lip and echoing Bucky’s whines with his own. His fingers tingle, swelling with blood and the water around them. He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to stop to eat enki or try to make a measly living. He doesn’t want the water to turn cold or his extremities to get so pruned that they’re uncomfortable. All he wants is the friction of Bucky’s wet tail and his hard dicks pushing into Steve’s.

Bucky gasps. His body seizes and he pulls Steve in for a desperate kiss, his whines turn to a growl and he convulses harshly, spilling out more water from the tub. Steve feels sharp teeth dangerously close to his tongue. He’s worried before he realizes what’s happening. When he looks down, the water, deep in a lavender hue, also sports silken white and it trails out of Bucky’s cocks like a spider spindles her web. Steve’s almost transfixed by the artistic beauty of the silver on purple until he feels Bucky bite at his jaw. He looks up and finally registers what Bucky is saying: “Stop, stop, please stop!”

Steve’s hips go still. Bucky turns sideways, gasping.

“What—did I hurt you?” Steve tries to move back but the tub is too small, so he just sits up on his knees, hovering. “Did we—”

“No! It’s just so much. So much good.”

“Oh.” Relief floods Steve like ocean water into dips of sand. He strokes Bucky’s face, smiling. “You liked it?”

“Yes. It’s better when it’s with someone else. Someone that I care about.” Bucky leans into Steve's hand, turning to kiss the palm.

The words leave Steve’s stomach cold. He wants to ask, but is too fearful of getting an answer. Bucky is always truthful with him—sometimes to a horrifying point. So he tables the thought, nestling up behind Bucky and stroking up and down the middle of Bucky’s chest. He likes the way Bucky feels, heaving with big gulps of air. They fit somehow like this. In a tub too small for both of them and most of the water drenching the floor now instead of in the tub. Bodies that don’t look the same and yet fit together so nicely.

Steve closes his eyes. He didn’t come. His balls ache, but somehow the thought that Bucky got to come and he liked it _more_ with Steve, makes Steve feel as satisfied as if he had. He kisses the back of Bucky’s neck, still stroking his fingers along Bucky’s chest.

“Thank you,” Steve says.

Bucky stills. “For?”

“For trusting me. I know it couldn’t be easy—with someone who kills enki.”

Bucky’s silent for a long time. The water cools and Steve finds himself clinging to Bucky more out of desire for warmth than affection. He wants to get out, thinking Bucky doesn’t have anything else to say.

Then Bucky finally says, “You don’t kill enki, Steve. You borrow their life. And one day, you’ll give it back.”

* * *

Steve likes Bucky’s weight atop him. He likes running his fingers absently through clean brown hair while they huddle up close on the couch. Bucky’s completely wide-eyed and enamored with the movie _Tarzan_ , but Steve’s seen it too many times to care. He’s watching a new movie playing on Bucky’s face. The child-like wonder of a man who’s never experienced a movie before is—unexplainable. Steve’s never felt such a rush of giddy excitement for parts to come and then watch the way Bucky reacts. Bucky cries when Tarzan’s family is killed. He laughs at Terk and her antics. He cringes at Clayton and shouts at him. Steve’s never seen such dedication to a movie before. And then he met Bucky. Life has taken a new meaning to Steve. He wants to see this man light up with all the new things he can experience.

Life, suddenly, isn’t too mundane anymore. The island is no longer Steve’s curse, but his blessing. He has Bucky, and he’ll do everything to protect him and keep his smile wide.

Once the movie’s over, Bucky stretches, arching back into Steve and groans. Steve watches the way the muscles in Bucky’s tail clench and shiver. His hand tingles the way it does when he wants to sketch something.

“Wanna watch another?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s face lights up like a child being told Santa’s on his way.

“We should watch something romantic. I could light candles and get us ice cream.”

“What’s romantic?” Bucky cants his head.

“Uh, the movie?”

“No.” Bucky grabs the blanket from the edge of the couch and wraps it around his shoulders. “What’s it mean?”

“Oh.” Steve blinks a few times, trying to figure out the easiest way to explain one of the most complicated of human emotions and experiences. “When we’re on the beach at night, with the glowing sand it’s just you, me, and the sound of the waves. That’s romantic.”

Bucky cocks a brow.

“It’s—a concept. It’s two people who care about each other, doing things together in a nice, beautiful kind of way?”

Bucky laughs. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’ve never been good at romance. Then I met you.” He kisses Bucky’s cheek, breathing in the way Bucky smells like lavender and feels as soft as fresh skin should. He’s no longer sticky from salt water or clammy from being wet. He’s soft and warm. Steve wants to bury his face in Bucky’s chest and breath in his scent until it’s the only thing Steve knows.

“We’re romantic?”

Steve nods, pressing his nose to Bucky’s. “Yes.”

At this, Bucky becomes flustered. His face scrunches and he crosses his arm over his chest. He huddles up under the blanket and pushes Steve away. “Get a movie. The romantic one. I wanna see it.”

Steve looks over his collection. This should, in theory, be an easy pick. But it’s not. It becomes painfully obvious why this is nigh impossible. All the movies Steve has are about women and men falling in love. None of them reflect the way Steve feels for Bucky. None could explain the complicated concept of romance in a way that represents Steve and Bucky. Steve sits before his movies, cringing at them. None of them—reflect _him_. He sighs, turning to look over his shoulder at Bucky.

Bucky cocks his brow higher in anticipation. He tilts his head to the side, waiting.

Steve turns back around and looks through his movies again. If he can’t find one with a man and a man, he’ll have to settle for a man and a woman who aren’t allowed to be together. That’s the only parallel he can get that’s close enough to Bucky and Steve’s situation. Not only are they two men, but they’re not even both human. Steve lands on _Save the Last Dance_ , a movie about a ballerina and her eventual African American boyfriend. There’s stigma and racism in it. Bucky may not understand that, but he’ll understand perhaps the “taboo” of the relationship as it’s conveyed to him. But then another realization dawns on Steve. Bucky probably doesn’t even know that being with another man isn't universally accepted. He hardly understands human culture as it is. Words, even. _Whatever that means_.

“Buck,” Steve turns around, “do you know what _gay_ is?”

Bucky blinks a few times.

“Gay.”

“I heard you.” Bucky looks away. “No.”

“Do you know what love is?”

Bucky sinks into the couch.

“What do you know about romance?” Steve asks.

Bucky crosses his arm over his chest again. He coils up on the couch, flicking his tail like a cat who's been angered. Maybe Bucky would like cats. Steve can’t see him liking a dog. He’d probably be overwhelmed.

“I know—what I know.”

“And that is?”

Bucky blinks a few times. It’s then that he realizes Bucky’s crying. Steve abandons the floor and scoops Bucky into his arms as best as he can. He kisses away the tears, stroking Bucky’s face. “Hey,” he coos, “hey shhh, shh, I’m sorry. It’s okay. You don’t need to know what that stuff is. It’s okay.”

“I remember,” Bucky says thickly. He sniffs, wiping snot and tears from his face. “I remember my mom. She said—she—that word—love.”

Steve’s heart squeezes. He kisses Bucky’s face, trailing his lips over salty tears. He can feel the way Bucky’s tail trembles, it rocks the whole couch.

“I remember the books she’d read me. How a mother’s love was the strongest love.”

“You know what love is, then.” Steve feels horrified. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to end this. He’s making Bucky suffer, and that’s exactly what he told himself he’d never do. he wants Bucky _warm_ and _happy_. Not cold, alone and suffering. He never wants to hear Bucky’s wailing cries on the wind again, or see his body being dumped from the fishermen’s boats. He only wants that smile—and here he is—pushing. Pushing because he _needs_ to understand Bucky. Bucky’s at a pivotal time of _regaining_ himself. He’s been lost and alone for so long. He’s been disconnected from the world. This is how he finds himself again.

“I know what it was to me,” Bucky’s voice is harsh, stone berating ice. He looks up with hate-filled eyes and twisted lips that push against each other. “I know that the love she felt for me didn’t matter when she threw me into the ocean.”

Steve nods. It’s not what he should do, but it’s all he can do. He doesn’t want to think about his own mother. She never abandoned him. She’d saved him. But in saving him, she left him. It’s not the same, it’s not even close to being the same from what Bucky endured, but Steve thinks about it anyway. The mind betrays us all, and Steve’s mind likes to betray him at every step of the way.

“I’m sorry she did that,” Steve whispers, “I would never do that to you.”

Bucky stares at Steve’s lips. His eyes gloss over. He lingers there, eyes staring off but not seeing. His lips are parted and it takes all Steve’s strength not to lean in to scoop them into his own. He waits, because this is Bucky regaining himself. And that’s not something Steve can protect him from. He has to let him walk toward that flame, and engulf himself in the fire.

“She used to read me stories. I remember them now. I remember—my bedroom. It was blue and there were fish drawn onto the walls.”

Steve remains silent.

“It looked out at the water, and the window could open right up and you could feel the ocean spray. She’d hold me, and she’d look out into the waves and just—stare.” He goes silent again, no longer looking at Steve, but at some nondescript area in the room.

Steve watches the time click by. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Forty-five. It’s maddening.

“If a mother’s love is the best love, then I don’t want any part of it.”

Steve’s lips part, he means to speak but his throat clamps—a hand holding his words back. He breathes steadily through his nose, watching the anger leave Bucky’s face. Bucky turns to Steve, blinking his long, dark lashes. His eyes are the reflection of an oncoming storm. There’s an eerie feeling to staring so long in those eyes.

“I don’t know what gay is,” Bucky eventually says. “But I hate love.”

Steve’s too distraught by the words to remember Bucky doesn’t understand the concept. He’s too naive to make the connection between the way Steve feels for Bucky and the way Bucky’s mother treated him. Emotional pain is far beyond the pain that used to occur in Steve’s lungs as he fought to breathe. It digs under his fingernails and toes, slicing into him and burrowing up into the backs of his eyes. It coils around his heart and squeezes so hard he may explode. Fire erupts beneath his skin and he’s powerless to do anything but let it consume him.

“Gay is,” he finally says, “gay is two men who—who’re together.”

“Together?”

“Like you and me. We’d be gay.” It’s too simple. It’s not accurate. It’s an assumption when no one knows that sexuality is more fluid than a cold hard standard. It’s too complicated and Steve _wants_ to explain, but he can’t. If he explains more, he may say _love_. And Bucky hates love…

“We’re gay. Okay. I get it.” Bucky’s smile is endearing, but it does nothing to soothe the pain that Steve feels.

With great effort, Steve stands up and makes his way to the movies again. He realizes his mistake in showing _Tarzan_ now. He thought there’d been parallels to Bucky and Tarzan. Two people from human worlds who grew up away from them. But it did nothing to explain love, because it showed it through Tarzan’s eyes. And Bucky failed to see it’s true meaning.

No wonder Bucky got tense each time the word was mentioned. It wasn’t much, but it’d been there a few times. And each time, Steve thought Bucky had been fidgeting.

He’d been wrong.

Steve doesn’t want to watch another movie. He wants to turn around and scream at Bucky for making him feel this way. He’s encased in so much rejection that he can’t bring himself to logically separate it. Bucky did _not_ reject Steve. Bucky doesn’t understand the concept of love. It isn’t personal. It’s a lack of understanding. And Steve still can’t bring himself to fix it.

“I’m tired, Buck. Can we just go to bed?”

“You want me to leave?”

Steve turns around, eyes wide. “Wh—no! No! I mean, together! In bed together!”

Bucky relaxes, but his breathing is hard. He flops from the couch to the floor and crawls over into Steve’s arms. “You look like you did the day I fed you the enki.”

Steve can’t bring himself to smile so he grunts.

“Did I do something wrong?”

It’s the perfect opening to explain why Steve feels the way he does. It could clear the suffering and the misguided rejection away. He could explain that love isn’t so simple as to be confined to mothers. _I hate love_.

“Nah, Buck. I’m just tired.” He kisses Bucky on the nose and then stands up. “Want me to carry you?” The bedroom isn’t far, but it’s far enough that Bucky could end up pulling one of the throw rugs along with him. Steve can’t stand it when a rug is out of its proper place. He crouches down, reaching forward and with a bit of strain, scoops Bucky up and together they go into the bedroom.

Steve puts Bucky in the bed and pulls back the covers. He then goes to change into his pajamas and brushes his teeth.

When he comes back, Bucky’s holding a picture in his hand. Steve looks to his nightstand and realizes which one it is. He freezes.

“Is this your mother?” Bucky shows the picture. Sarah’s face is smiling, but her eyes are focused on Steve. Steve’s looking at the camera, one eye closed from how close Sarah’s squeezing him to her.

“Yeah.”

“And she loves you?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s good.” Bucky puts the picture back. He coils up. “S’too dry here.”

“In the bed?”

“All here. The bath was nice. My skin’s all itchy.”

Steve’s heart breaks again. Not only did Bucky accidentally reject Steve, but his body rejects land. It’s staring Steve right in the face, the realization of it all. But he wants to ignore it. He _wants_ to make this work. He’d felt so good with Bucky in the tub. He’d felt so good holding Bucky while they watched a stupid Disney movie. Why does it have to hurt so badly now?

“I could—you could sleep in the bath?” It defeats the purpose of sleeping together, Steve realizes. “Or—or I could take you back.”

Bucky sits up. He takes one big gulp of air and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “We can never be together forever, can we?” He doesn’t look up.

Steve sits next to him, staring at the wall. There’s a picture that Steve did there. It hangs crooked but Steve still likes the piece. It’s sailboats with the sunlight behind them. He’d painted it from reference while sitting at the docks. He remembers the day clearly.

“Why can’t we?” Steve feels rocks tumble into his stomach.

“Because you live on land and I live in the ocean. You can’t hold your breath like me, or swim like me. I can’t walk like you, or—or run.”

Steve’s  heart is crumbling into itself. It doesn't want to keep hearing the words that fall from Bucky’s mouth.

“I can’t dance,” Bucky says. “I kept thinkin’ that whole time we watched that movie what’d it’d be like to dance with you.”

“How do you know what dancing is?”

Bucky looks away. “Brock told me once. About dancin’. Said if I had legs he’d take me dancin’.”

Steve’s stomach burns. He doesn’t want Brock Rumlow around Bucky if he’s the last man on earth with him. “Oh yeah?”

“I told you—they’re my friends, even if they can be mean.”

“I would take you dancing,” Steve says, “and you don’t need legs to dance.”

Bucky looks up, eyes round. “You don’t?”

“Lemme show you. My ma used to do this with me when I was a kid.” Steve goes over to his stereo and puts on a slow tune. He reaches out, scooping Bucky into his arms and holds him bridal style. He smiles, watching the anxiety in Bucky’s face come to a climax and slowly start to fade away when he hears the music and feels what’s happening.

Steve sways, bobbing Bucky to the tune. He turns them around and playfully dips Bucky. Bucky howls with a laugh, swatting at Steve. “Pick me up! Don’t drop me!”

Steve doesn’t drop him. They dance the whole song through, and then they stay like that, listening to the next song, but unmoving. Steve’s breathing hard from the effort. Bucky’s not exactly light. Sweat glistens on his upper lip and he can feel beads of sweat slip down his lower back. But the way Bucky looks right now makes it all worth it. Bucky’s smile—is worth it.

“Love—isn’t just the way your mother felt, Buck.”

Bucky tenses up, brow furrowing.

“Love’s so much more than that. And I’m sorry. I’m so _so_ sorry. But that’s not how love is. That’s not real love. That was—well I dunno, but it ain’t what it is.”

Bucky bites his lip. “So what is it?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. Like falling from a plane with no parachute. “It’s this. It’s you n’ me, pal.”

Bucky’s lips slowly part, his eyes widen. He goes two shades paler and his pupils expand to swallow up his whole iris. “It’s—this?”

Steve nods. “I love you, Bucky. And I would never _ever_ throw you back into the ocean.”

Bucky leans up, wrapping his arm around Steve and squeezes. His breath shakes. Steve’s legs finally give out and they both go tumbling to the floor. Bucky doesn’t stop holding onto Steve. They stay there, huddled up in each other’s arms until Steve falls asleep.

And when they wake? Bucky’s still there, with the sun glistening off his drying, flaky tail, but he’s still all smiles. And so is Steve.

* * *

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?” Natasha asks as they walk toward the beach. “I mean, he hasn’t seen me since I was a baby. What if he doesn’t know it’s me?”

“He will.”

“What if he’s angry at me? I haven’t—I haven’t seen him in so long. What if he hates me!?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Oh God, I’ve been dying my hair red! What if he doesn’t like red!”

“He’ll like it just fine.” They get to the beach, both taking off their shoes. Steve holds his in his hands but Natasha just leaves hers. She keeps fiddling with her hair, and tugging on her necklace. It’s a small golden band with a mermaid on it. Steve now understands why.

“What if I say something stupid?”

“You’re you. How could that possibly happen?”

She smiles. “That’s true. I’m pretty damn smart.”

“Absolutely.”

Bucky’s already waiting for them in the shallow waves. He’s done something different to his hair. It takes Steve a few paces of getting closer to realize he has a shell in it, tied up and pulling one side back behind his ear. It elongates his neck and makes him look almost refined. Steve likes it. He waves.

Natasha gasps, stopping in her tracks. “He sees me.”

“He does.”

“He’s not screaming.”

“Nope.”

“Steve, I can’t—I’m scared.”

“You’re Natasha Romanov. You can do anything.”

She nods, swallowing loudly. She juts out her bottom lip and presses on, brow determined. About a few more steps and she breaks into a run. Then she’s falling to her knees in the ocean spray and she and Bucky are embracing. She’s drenched, covered in wet sand and salty water but Steve can only see the smiles on their faces.

“ _Moy starshiy brat!_ ” Natasha squeezes Bucky, smiling and crying all at once. She kisses his face and then pinches his cheeks. “Look at you! Oh look at you!”

Steve shoves his hands into his pockets. He shouldn’t be watching this. This is private between family members long separated. He turns to leave and gets a few steps away.

“Oy!” Natasha shouts. “What the hell, Rogers! Think you can just leave us?”

He turns around and sees them still hugging. Bucky’s face is blotchy with red and streaked with tears. Natahsa’s too. They have the same skin…

“You brought us together again,” Natasha says, “don’t leave.”

“I thought you’d want to talk to each other—alone.” He scratches the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly.

“What we have to say to each other, it can be said in front of you too.” She looks to Bucky, bumping their shoulders together. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ve gotta ask. What does moy-bol-sha-whatever mean?”

Natasha snorts. “It means my big brother.”

Steve nods, feeling pleased with the answer. “I’ll just sit where it’s dry. You two can play in the water.”

They talk for hours. Steve ends up napping a few times in the sun, waking only once when Bucky splashed him and the others because his body was never fully asleep. They don’t talk about their mother. Steve wonders what happened to her. He assumes she’s dead, but Natasha’s never outright said one way or the other. He shakes the thoughts from his head, refocusing on the way Natasha holds Bucky’s hand while they  both lie flat on the sand, staring up at the sky. They laugh about jokes that Steve doesn’t understand. Natasha teaches Bucky words in Russian. Their hair is wet, dripping with water and the drops glisten like diamonds atop the sand.

Steve’s starving when Natasha finally sits up. “We’ve kept Steve here for a long time.” She turns to him, smiling. “Thank you, though.”

“S’what friends’re for.” He waves it off.

“I was scared,” Natasha says. “I was scared you’d hate me for what she did to you.”

Bucky’s face pales. He squeezes Natasha’s hand. “You didn’t do that to me.”

“I know. I should’ve looked—I just—she said you were dead.” Tears fill her eyes. Her eyes are green like seaweed. Bucky’s grey like an ocean storm. Together they both make the ocean the colors that it is. There’s something beautiful in that, Steve thinks.

“I’m not dead, and you’re here now. We can be a family again. All three of us.”

Steve’s eyes widen when he hears the number.

Natasha and Bucky are both looking expectantly at Steve, wearing smiles that look so damn similar Steve’s now angry at himself for not having figured this out when he first saw Bucky smile. Damn right they’re siblings.

“Three?” Steve croaks.

“I know I can’t stay on land, but—but we can always—meet here? I’d understand if you didn’t—”

“Bucky,” Steve crawls forward. The icy water hits his legs and wrists. When he gets to Bucky though, all the cold is gone and replaced by warmth. “I’m not leaving you. It doesn’t matter how hard it’ll be. Because—yeah—it’ll be hard. It _has_ been hard. But we can do this. Yeah—all three of us.” He kisses Bucky, long and hard, like a promise being shown off for the world to see. It solidifies them, makes Steve replace his world with just him and changes it to _them_. _They_ are part of each other now, and _they_ will always be. That is Steve’s promise, unsung, unspoken, but plenty heard.

“I love you,” Bucky says. The words fall gingerly from his tongue, careful in the way they present themselves. But when he looks at Steve, eyes sure of themselves, his shoulders held wide. Steve feels triumph. Bucky no longer hates love. Bucky embraces it—because he _understands_ it once again. In finding his family, in finding Steve, he’s reclaimed himself. He’s more of a man than a fish and now he’s not alone. The journey will be hard. Things won’t be easy, but this is where they are now. A family.

And Bucky’s the spotlight of it all.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

“Hey! Anyone home!” Steve puts the groceries down on the granite counter. He steps back, looking around the large space. It spills into the dining room and the entertainment room. But there’s no one here. He goes toward the back of the house, opening the sliding doors and looks down at the private pool. Bucky’s in the water and Natasha’s on one of the beach chairs, reading a book. “Hey! I got dinner for you two!”

While things have changed, and may have even gotten better—Steve still has to eat the enki. Bucky, true to his word, has let the fishermen do their jobs, but when the enki population gets low, he’s forced to take action. There’s only been one time that’s happened, and during that time, Bucky made sure every child had an enki on their plate, and Steve, of course.

“What is it?” Bucky asks. He dives into the water and then in a flash is up against the side closest to their home. They’ve had it for a few months now. It came available after an older woman died. Natasha had proposed they all live together. It’s close to the water so Bucky can hop back into the ocean when he needs, but the inside is where it’s the best. There’s an indoor and outdoor pool, a jacuzzi and the bedrooms all have private lounge tubs in them. Bucky tries to sleep on the bed for as long as he can, but he eventually always crawls over into the tub at night. But with so much water around, he’s never really anxious or drying out.  

“Crab with corn on the cob, salad and I got those little turkey bites you like so much. For an appetizer or something.”

“Oh! Yes!” Bucky dives back into the water, springing out for a flip and then back in again.

Natasha covers her book, grumbling, but the smile says more than the words. She loves it.

“You gonna eat any with us?” she asks.

“I’ll have some bites, yeah. But I’ve got enki for me.”

“They’re working on making a pill instead,” Natasha says. “Tony told me. It’s the closest they’ve ever gotten. Like omega-3’s. The enki will—well—” she shrugs, looking over at the way Bucky’s face goes sullen, “but you could eat other foods with us? And just take the pill?”

Steve shakes his head. He comes to sit next to Natasha. Bucky springs out of the water and gets his wet head all over Steve’s lap. Steve, of course, never cares. He’s gotten plenty used to water at this point. He strokes his fingers through Bucky’s sopping hair, careful not to tug on any tangled strands.

“I’m borrowing the enki’s life. Wouldn’t be fair to them if I did it like that.” He leans down, and is greeted with a wet, salty kiss from Bucky. They keep their pool salt water treated instead of chlorine. It’s better for Bucky’s skin.

“You’re a good man. I’ll go start dinner then. You two can—do whatever you do when I’m not around.” Natasha winks and then goes inside.

“You could take the pill. I know you hate eating enki.” Bucky crawls up into the lounge chair with Steve, effectively drenching the other.

“It’s okay. I need to treat them with respect. I’m not gonna grind them up into pills just so it’s easier for me to live.”

“But you could leave the island.”

“You think I’m gonna leave you?” Steve kisses Bucky’s cheek and then his scarred shoulder. “I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky sighs, coiling his tail as best as he can around Steve’s legs. “I love you too.”

After dinner, they head up to the privacy of their bedroom. It’s gotten easier as they’ve gotten used to each other’s bodies. Steve’s always preferred bottoming, and it’s not like he could top Bucky anyway.

Steve’s naked, his legs straddling Bucky’s tail, he slips his cock back and forth over Bucky’s, watching the slit fall back and his cocks swell out. He coaxes them with his hands, palming over the tips and making Bucky arch into him, his tail flapping when it gets to be too much.

Steve likes taking both of Bucky’s cocks into him. It’s tight and the way it feels when Bucky comes inside his body is addicting. He works at Bucky’s cocks, drizzling lube over them and then wrapping his fists around them, getting them shiny and ready. He traces his fingers over the tips, enjoying the way Bucky’s cocks point a little instead of round like human dicks. Bucky’s cocks are thinner, but more detailed. They have ridges that go down from the base of the head all the way to the sheath. It makes for giving Bucky head all the more fun. Steve likes letting his tongue run up and down those ridges. Bucky usually likes it too. He comes faster that way when Steve just focuses there.

Which, speaking of…

Steve shimmies down Bucky’s tail, feeling the point of his fin at his ass. He rubs along it, flicking his tongue out to lick up and down the ridges on both of Bucky’s cocks. He’s put them both into his mouth before, but it’s more fun when he gets to pretend he’s got more cocks than he can handle in his face.

“Ungh—fuck—oh fuck Steve!” Bucky tangles his fingers in the short strands of Steve’s hair, pulling and tugging best as he can. He rocks his hips, and Steve lets him, guiding his tongue carefully up and down the base of Bucky’s tip.

He’s licked the lube clean off before pulling back to get more and coats Bucky’s dicks again. He works the lube down the shafts slow, watching the way Bucky looks up at him, reverent and patient. He’s such a good boy like this, always eager to do it Steve’s way and never rush him. Steve turns around, wiggling his ass in Bucky’s face. “Eat me out?”

Bucky’s tongue greets Steve’s rim, and that’s all the answer Steve needs to know he’s heard. Steve shakes a little, squeezing his ass and rocking back on the way Bucky’s tongue slips inside him. Bucky’d learned fast what Steve likes, and he’s always been more than eager to do it again and again.

Bucky’s tongue laves inside Steve. Steve can feel the way Bucky’s nose pushes against the tailbone and the burn in his ass from Bucky pulling his cheeks apart. He rocks back, sitting completely on Bucky’s face, still pumping at Bucky’s cocks with his own hands.

Bucky moans into Steve. He reaches around Steve’s thigh and massages at the base of his dick. Steve’s head rolls back, and he gasps. Bucky’s the best damn lover there is and Steve doesn’t need to know other people intimately to know that Bucky’s the best. It’s written into his bones, solidified in how hard Bucky makes him come.

He rocks faster, eager to feel a release but knowing full well he’s just going to work himself up before making Bucky stop. He likes teasing himself, and Bucky’s more than willing to go with whatever Steve wants.

He jerks away when he’s about to come, swinging around to finger himself a little, coating his hole up with lube.

“You ready, baby?”

Bucky nods, smiling. “Always.”

“Jerk,” Steve whispers before he lines himself up and slowly, _slowly_ , starts sinking onto Bucky’s cocks. He takes them slow, barely an inch by inch. Doesn’t matter if they’re a little skinnier than human cocks, they’re still stuffing him full and stretching him wide. They’re longer too, and that point at their ends always slams right against Steve’s prostate. If he rushes, he could either injure himself or come almost immediately. It’ll always be a gamble, but as long as he goes slow, he’s usually perfectly fine.

He works down over Bucky, feeling the way Bucky’s muscles tremble beneath him. He likes watching the haze fill up Bucky’s face when Steve’s muscles clench around him. Bucky’s lips are so red and swollen and he’ll keep biting them when Steve makes him feel good. Steve _loves_ getting Bucky like this, all heat-flushed and whining for his hole.

Steve bottoms out over Bucky, squeezing his muscles around his lover’s cocks as tight as he can.

Bucky jerks up, yelping. Steve catches him for a kiss and they rock into each other slowly. Bucky’s cocks, as always, bump up against Steve’s prostate. He whines into Bucky’s mouth, clenching with his hands as tight as he can to Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky’s hand is at Steve’s hip, a quiet reminder that it’s there, but Steve’s never needed help coming when he’s on both of Bucky’s cocks.

Slow, Steve rises up before letting himself fall down again, thrusting Bucky’s cocks in and out of his body. He rides Bucky, nice and slow for as long as he can take it, making Bucky whimper, gasp and shake.

Bucky’s always patient, his kisses the only thing exposing how close he is to coming. The closer he gets, the more eager his tongue gets. He likes to push it into Steve’s mouth when he comes. And those teeth… Steve has to always watch out for those teeth when Bucky is in a fucked out haze.

Steve rocks forward, letting his cock drag along between their bodies. He moves faster, squeezing tight around Bucky’s dicks, kissing hard. “You like that, baby?”

Bucky nods, his eyes still hazed over.

“I like it too, love you up inside me.”

“Oh S-Steve!”

They’d discovered Bucky _really_ likes it when Steve talks dirty a few months ago…

“God Buck, God I love you, filling me up, makin’ me all yours, _fuck_ , harder baby! Ah! H-harder!”

Bucky bites down on Steve’s shoulder, whining into it. He snaps his hips as best he can with what Steve allows him. It doesn’t matter what words come out of Steve’s mouth. Steve controls how they go, and Bucky’s always been happy to follow along with it.

Steve rises up all the way, letting Bucky’s cocks stay inside just barely, before spreading his thighs and dropping back down. Bucky howls, choking back a sob.

“That feel good? You like that?”

“Y-yes, Stevie, oh _God_ yes!”

Steve rises up again, squeezing his muscles around Bucky and dropping down. He does this a few more times, taking all of Bucky inside in quick bursts and toying with his tip at the entrance of his hole. Bucky’s sobbing when Steve finally decides they’ve played enough.

He rolls them over, letting Bucky know it’s time to finish.

Bucky used to struggle with this position. He’s now gotten the hang of it. He uses his hand to balance while his tail thrusts deep into Steve. Each snap of the hip he arches a little forward, pressing his cocks firm against Steve’s prostate.

Steve arches, reaching up to grab the bed frame. He tugs on it hard, groaning each time Bucky slams back inside him. Bucky leans down, kissing Steve’s shoulder, over and over again.

Bucky thrusts a few more times before Steve finally comes, spewing onto the sheets. The release starts from the pit of his stomach and reaches the tips of his fingers. His muscles turn to jelly as Bucky slows down, coming inside him too. Steve shivers, feeling hot liquid slide into his ass. He'd let Bucky come inside him all day if he could. That initial burst of warmth is enough to make Steve hard again.

Bucky’s tongue is in Steve’s mouth. Steve is twisted around, his arms around Bucky, squeezing as tight as he can to help Bucky come harder and longer.

They both collapse down into the bed, gasping. Steve turns into Bucky, kissing his chest and flicking his tongue over the merman’s nipple. He’d discovered that Bucky liked it, so he’s always made sure to keep doing it.

Bucky’s eyes are slits. He pants heavily, chest rising and falling evenly. “You’re too good for me.”

Steve shakes his head. He comes up to Bucky’s face, kissing him. “No I’m not. Shut up and let me enjoy your come in my ass.”

“Jesus, I never knew you were so filthy.”

“You never knew a lot of things, dork.”

Bucky flicks up his brow, nodding. “That’s fair.”

“Wanna go again in five minutes?”

Bucky stretches. He lets out a sleepy groan and drops his arm heavily. “Nah, but I’ll suck you off as many times as you want.”

Steve’s cock already starts twitching at the thought. “I’m gonna clean up. I’ll be back and then you’ll do that.”

Steve kisses Bucky quickly before walking into the bathroom. He sits on the toilet, letting everything fall out. A merman. He’s in love with a merman, on a magical island, eating magical fish to stay alive. If someone told his child self this would be his future, he’d have at _least_ tried to punch them once. Steve never did know when to back down from a fight. He’d certainly have never believed it.

But here he is. Surrounded by magic and a life he never thought possible, with a man he never thought could exist. Steve hates eating the enki. He will always feel guilty. But the words Bucky said all those months ago still reign true. Steve is only borrowing the lives of the enki. And one day, he’ll give it back.

Till then? He’ll love their guardian with every fiber of his being. Because Steve Rogers stopped being a _he_ the day he promised to be a _they_ with Bucky.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Danger Never Looked So Sweet (FanArt)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745259) by [AyaroS92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaroS92/pseuds/AyaroS92)




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